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Wo. W 


jU ut , 


When Grandmamma 
Was Fourteen 


By 

Marion Harland 

AUTHOR OF “WHEN GRANDMAMMA WAS NEW,” ETC. 


Illustrated by 

Etheldred B. Barry 


11 My salad days — 

When / was green in judgment 

— Antony and Cleopatra. 


Boston 

Lothrop Publishing Company 





UUKArtY of COiNGHtSS 
Two Uoulus 



JUL 12 lyob 

CODJl'itflH C.HUY 

TTLcuii /?■ / 9 " o-S 
a aac. noj 

// 1 / 7 ? 

COPY tt. 



Copyright, 1905, 

By Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Company. 


Published August, 1905. 



Nortooob $rtsa 

J. S. Cushing & Co. — Berwick & Smith Co. 
Norwood, Mass., U.8.A. 


< { 
( i ( 


/ 


THE FRIENDS, “FIT BUT” NOW SADLY “FEW,” 

WHO KNEW GRANDMAMMA WHEN SHE 
WAS FOURTEEN. 

MARION HARLAND 


1905 




Contents 


CHAPTER 

I. 

At the City Spring . 

• 

• 

• 

• 

PAGE 

9 

II. 

A Cross of Bitter Herbs 

• 

• 

• 

• 

24 

III. 

I keep My Sorrow to Myself 

• 

• 

• 

45 

IV. 

I am put upon the Rack 

• 

• 

• 

• 

67 

V. 

Duped again! . 

• 

• 

• 


89 

VI. 

Miss Barbara Allen . 

• 

• 

• 


1 12 

VII. 

I make a Holocaust . 

• 

• 

• 


138 

VIII. 

Marion . 

• 

o 

• 


158 

IX. 

The Blessed Damozel 

• 

• 

• 

• 

181 

X. 

Miss Marcia 

• 

• 

• 

• 

198 

XI. 

“More Anon” 

• 

• 

• 

• 

219 

XII. 

“The Phenomenon” 

• 

• 

• 

• 

235 

XIII. 

My Lady Bountiful . 

• 

• 

• 

• 

253 

XIV. 

“M. P.” 

• 

• 

• 

• 

277 

XV. 

The Old Year Out . 

• 

• 

• 

• 

297 

XVI. 

My First Taste of Fame 

• 

• 

• 

• 

3 H 

XVII. 

Wedding Favors 

• 

• 

• 

• 

337 

XVIII. 

Jonah’s Gourd . • 

• 

• 

• 

• 

35 i 

XIX. 

My Convert 

• 

• 

• 

• 

370 

XX. 

A Brave Lady . 

• 

• 

• 

• 

CM 

00 

vn 


5 



Illustrations 


Frederic and I .... 

** Seated at the table in the summer-house * ’ 

“ I was walking very slowly, my head down ** 
(t * For her sake, Dick ! 9 I sobbed ** . 


Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE / 

. I 23 


232 


3 12 


/ 





I 



When Grandmamma 
was Fourteen 

Chapter I 

At The City Spring 

“ Standing with reluctant feet 

Where the brook and river meet.” 

— Longfellow. 

Longfellow had not written those lines 
at the date of my story. If he had, I should 
not have entered into the fulness and breadth 
of their meaning. To Sidney Page they would 
have been rubbish not worth the hearing. If 
her feet were reluctant, it was because she was 
unwilling to stand where she was, and eager to 
9 


io When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


wade the brook until she got out of her depth. 
Then she would have swum as naturally as a 
water-bird. 

She and I had walked up-town and down- 
town and across-town that Saturday afternoon, 
shopping a little and talking a great deal, stroll- 
ing aimlessly from street to street, until we sat 
down at last upon a bench made fast to a tree 
close to the City Spring. 

It was six o’clock by now. The sunbeams had 
struck almost horizontally into our faces as we 
descended the eastern slope from the street. 
The Spring itself was in shadow. It gushed 
from a rocky bank and fell, tinkling and spread- 
ing, into a stone basin, then ran laughingly 
away between the hills in a tiny, twisted ribbon 
of a brooklet. Eastern and western slopes were 
shaded by large trees, and the grass crept close 
to the water’s edge. There was no prettier nook 
in ante-bellum Richmond — City of Gardens 
though it was — than the grounds about the 
City Spring. Old residents maintained stoutly 
that there was no better water in town or 
country. 


At the City Spring 


II 


We had pulled off our gloves andndrunk from 
our hollowed palms as soon as we got there. 
Walking had made us thirsty. While we talked, 
Sidney pulled her gloves straight and patted 
them reflectively upon her lap. The gloves 
were pale pink, and the lap was white muslin. 
Her hat was of white chip, garlanded with wild 
roses that matched the delicate pink of the 
gloves. She was the adopted daughter of a 
rich aunt, and her clothes were the admiration of 
the school. 

Sidney was sixteen. I was fourteen. My 
chosen intimates were always older than I — why 
I have never been able to determine. Nor 
did I comprehend then more clearly than now 
why I always loved them far better than they 
loved me. Before I was ten years old I took 
this fact for granted. At fourteen it had ceased 
to puzzle me. To this hour the conviction 
brings with it the old, familiar ache I shall never 
get rid of while I live — and love. 

Knowing, as I could not but know, that I was 
Sidney’s superior in natural ability and in intel- 
lectual attainments, I yet looked up to her, and, 


12 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


out of lesson hours, deferred to her judgment and 
opinions. I helped her with her sums, albeit a 
poor arithmetician myself; coached her confi- 
dently in algebra, the one and only branch of 
mathematics I really liked ; corrected the spelling 
and pulled into shape the ungrammatical structure 
of her compositions ; shuddered and froze to the 
heart and toes at her discomfitures under the piti- 
less fire of M. Guillaume's sarcasms on “ French 
days” — yet abated not one jot or tittle of my 
adoration. 

She was handsome rather than pretty. Recall- 
ing the picture she made for my loving contempla- 
tion that May day when the sun hung low, and the 
young leaves of sycamore and poplars rustled silkily 
above our heads, and leaping spring and whisper- 
ing brook kept time to the beating of light hearts, 
I see a slim figure, a clear skin — the clearer by 
contrast with dark hair and a delicate pencilling 
of hair on the upper lip — “ the type of American 
girl that,” Dr. Holmes says, “ gives us some of 
our most beautiful women.” The short upper 
lip curved saucily when she smiled, revealing per- 
fect teeth; her nose was ever so slightly cc tip- 


At the City Spring 


13 


tilted ” ; straight eyebrows were darkly defined 
upon a low forehead ; her eyes were brown and 
lively. 

Yet, in perspective, I conclude that the charms 
which drew and held me to her for two years 
were, first, her glorious voice in singing, her good 
humor and flow of girlish spirits, and her appre- 
ciation of my admiration and doglike devotion. 
She was never demonstrative, but she had con- 
fessed to me once that she was “ more fond of 
me than of any other girl she knew.” I lived 
upon that concentrated tabloid of sentiment for 
twenty months and three weeks. 

Since her return to school after the Christmas 
holidays a glow of romance had tinged our in- 
timacy. One night in February which she had 
spent with me, she confided to my tingling ears 
that she was “ as good as engaged to Tom Gar- 
lick, who had been in love with her ever since 
she could recollect anything.” He was twenty- 
five years old — quite an old bachelor — and 
sober, even for that mature age. But he wor- 
shipped the dust upon her shoes, and was good 
and steady, quite a pattern young man, and 


14 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


“Aunt Parke thought the world and all of 
him.” 

Here was material in abundance for the airy 
mansion I proceeded to build out of hand, so 
much to Sidney's amusement, when I outlined 
it to her, that I kept the dream henceforward to 
myself. But I continued to build. A comely 
turret was supplied by a planter from the county 
which was Sidney's home, who dined one day 
with my relatives, the Mortons. My sister- 
cousin, Mary 'Liza, and I made our home with 
them during the school session. I seized an 
opportunity, when others were not listening, to 
ask the visitor if he knew Mr. Thomas Garlick. 
The reply was prompt and satisfactory : — 

“Very well ! He is one of the finest fellows 
going — quite the catch of the county.” 

The phrase jarred upon my sensibilities, but 
I overlooked the want of taste in one who knew 
no better, reminding myself that pearls are picked 
out of decaying oysters. 

I wished that Sidney had not laughed when 
I repeated what the matter-of-fact planter had 
said. 


At the City Spring 


15 


“ Everybody knows that ! " she said. “ That's 
the reason Aunt Parke approves of him." 

I knew my dear girl too well to entertain for 
a second the suspicion that she shared in her 
aunt's sordid motives. I had no secrets from 
her that I could put into words, and I believed 
that I had seen down to the lowest depths of her 
pure heart. 

Of course, there are things nobody can talk over 
with any other flesh-and-blood human creature : 
Tom Garlick, for example — and Mr. Frederic 
Sedley, the Prince Charming of my reveries. 

Emerson tells us that “ we are things of shreds 
and patches, borrowed unequally from good and 
bad ancestors, and a misfit from the start." Mr. 
Frederic Sedley was made up of sections of 
Edward Dunallan, Sir Charles Grandison, Ivan- 
hoe, and William Wallace, cemented and riveted 
with material from minor heroes who figured in 
Godeys Lady's Book serials and sketches, and each 
bit was a snug fit, presenting a symmetrical whole. 
The name was my own invention, and the Mosaic 
Man kept it for years, through many and radical 
changes in his component parts. An attribute 


1 6 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


was pulled out here and there, and others sub- 
stituted ; a grace that appealed to my childish 
fancy was superseded by one approved by ma- 
turer judgment. Mr. Frederic Sedley bore the 
same title and was, for all intents and purposes. 
Himself, offering a triumphant illustration of the 
metaphysical dogma that “ the identity of a thing 
remains, even though it has suffered a change 
in some of its parts.” 

I pause to say, incidentally, that I owe a 
mighty debt of gratitude to my Ideal Hero. I 
had hitched my wagon to a star, and I kept the 
traces taut. It is rank folly for parents and 
teachers to warn boys and girls off the realm of 
Imagination inhabited by Coming Men and 
Waiting Women. The young will dream and 
aspire, with Love as the central figure of the 
vision, whether parents permit or prohibit. The 
bright chimera that sits highest upon the horizon 
of Youth will not down at the bidding of Reason 
and Experience personified by Middle Age. 
Frederic Sedleys, built up of worthy stuff, are 
safeguards against what plastic French labels as 
premature 'passions and awkward affaires . I was 


At the City Spring 


17 


immune against everyday John Smiths, Peter 
Browns, and Tom Garlicks. All were mean and 
commonplace beside the majestic serenity and 
imperial equipments of the Mosaic Man hidden 
from profane and curious eyes in a tabernacle to 
which I, alone, had the key. I should have 
blushed myself blind for shame had his name, or 
a hint of his existence, escaped my lips. 

Perhaps it would be different when I was old 
enough to have a lover in tangible flesh and 
broadcloth. Even then there would be holy 
reserves from one’s best bosom friend — and 
Sidney Page was mine. 

As if she had divined the tenor of my musings, 
she ended an unusually long silence by saying: — 
“ I had a letter from Tom Garlick last week. 
I haven’t had a chance to talk to you about it 
since. Oh ! ” — in whimsical petulance — “ I do 
wish he hadn’t such a ridiculous name ! ” 

I had wished the same, a hundred times, but 
refrained from saying it. It cost even a perfervid 
imagination an effort to eliminate the onion-flavor 
from my romance. 

“No name is odd when you are used to it,” 


1 8 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


I protested bravely. “ I’d rather be called ‘Gar- 
lick ’ than Mudd, or Hogg, or Hogshead, or 
Cake, or Murdagh, or Slaughter! I know men 
with these names. And every one of them is a 
preacher! Funny — isn’t it — that men with 
queer names so often take to the ministry ? 
Mr. Murdagh and Mr. Slaughter have churches 
in the same county, too ! ” 

<c I wish to goodness Tom Garlick would study 
for the ministry ! ” with rising heat. “ Then he’d 
have to let me alone for — let me see! three 
years, at least. He’s been to college, so I sup- 
pose he could be turned out a parson in three 
years. I shall be nineteen then — quite an 
elderly lady. He can’t expect me to wait for 
him until I’m old enough to put on caps ! ” 

“ My mother did not marry until she was 
nineteen,” I ventured consolingly. c< And there’s 
Mrs. Mitchell — the prettiest bride in Richmond ! 
She’s twenty-three. Cousin Molly Belle says 
the time is coming when sensible girls will not 
think of marrying under twenty-five. She says 
girlhood is a beautiful time, and it’s fine to have 
it last ten years instead of three ! ” 


At the City Spring 


19 


cc And to be on the old-maid list for five out 
of the ten ! No, thank you ! I have no fancy 
for the sere and yellow leaf. But there’s no hope 
of Tom Garlick’s giving me a chance to put him 
off. I told him at Christmas that I wished he’d 
go to town and get into a fight in a faro-bank, or 
get roaring drunk in the street, or pick a man’s 
pocket — or do something else disgraceful — that 
would give me an excuse for discarding him. 
He is so tiresomely good and proper that I want 
to shake him sometimes. When he gets down to 
long stories of how comfortably and peacefully 
and quietly we’re going to live when we are 
married, I almost yawn my head off! And the 
idea of hearing myself called, c Mrs. Garlick ’ ! 
I shocked him to death one day by saying I’d as 
lief be c Saleratus ’ ! ” 

“ He must be very good-natured and very 
patient, and very, very much in love, to let you 
say such things, and not get angry ! ” said I, 
gravely admonitory. 

“ Oh ! he’s all that, and more besides ! And 
I’m not any of it! But I was telling you about 
his letter. I brought it along for you to read ! ” 


20 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


She drew it from her pocket and tossed it into 
my lap. 

I hesitated to touch it. My face flamed up 
hotly. 

“You don’t mean that l Nobody ought to 
read love-letters except the person to whom they 
are written. I know he wouldn’t like me to see 
what he has said to you ! ” 

“ Then he can lump it ! Read it, goosie, and 
you’ll see it isn’t a love-letter. It’s just plain, 
everyday talk. c Direct, and to the point,’ as 
I’ve heard him say about business talks. I 
wouldn’t blush if it was read from the top 
of St. Paul’s Church steeple. He isn’t given 
to sentimental speeches, and he just can t write 
them ! ” 

Thus urged, I read the first love-letter that 
ever came into my hands : — 

“Dear Sidney: You and I have been good 
as engaged to be married for Four Months, and, 
as I have told you a good many times, I can’t 
remember when I didn’t think more of you than 
of any other girl I ever saw or ever expect to see. 


At the City Spring 21 

You will be Seventeen next Fall, and I am 
going on Twenty-Six, and I have a good planta- 
tion, and plenty of Hands to work it, and a 
nice House, and all the Furniture we need, even 
to Silver and China and Glass and Linen. I don’t 
sea any reason why we should not get Married 
just as soon as you lieve School in July. My 
Mother was married when she was Sixteen, 
and a Better Manager never lived. I have 
been mighty Lonely since she died last Year. 
A Man is always lonely with no woman in his 
House. I want you to come and make a 
Home for me. 

“ I broached the subject to your Aunt yester- 
day, and she has no Objection if you are Agree- 
able. She says she will go to Richmond next 
week and begin buying your Wedding-clothes if 
you say yes. She is just waiting for the word. 
So everything is Smooth in that Direction. She 
certainly was mighty kind to me, and I certainly 
am mighty obliged to her. 

“ I want to make Matters just as easy for you 
as I can, Sidney, and I am sure you and Me will 
be mighty happy together. 


22 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


“ Please let me hear from you soon as you 
can. I shall be mighty Anxshus till I do. 

“ Devotedly yours, 

“ T. L. Garlick.” 

“Well?” queried Sidney, as I looked up from 
the big sheet blackened by the school-boyish 
scrawl. 

She was smiling tranquilly and was far more com- 
posed than I. My cheeks burned and throbbed 
with the hurrying blood ; my finger-tips were 
cold. Had I uttered what tingled on my tongue, 
it would have been — “I thought you said he 
had been through college ! ” 

Instead, I substituted lamely, “ I think he 
means a great deal more than he says ! ” 

With the quickness of thought I rehearsed to 
myself the terms in which Mr. Frederic Sedley 
had couched his petition for a speedy union when 
I had opened the tabernacle last night after Mary 
'Liza was asleep. A great wave of prideful love 
surged over me at the comparison. 

“There’s where Tom Garlick and I differ,” 
rejoined Sidney, coolly, handing another letter to 


At the City Spring 


23 


me. “ I say just exactly what I mean, and I 
mean to stand by what I say ! ” 

The letter was a mere note. 

“ My Dear Friend : I feel it to be my duty 
to say to you candedly that I do not love you, 
and that I can never marry you. I am sorry I 
did not tell you the honest truth at Christmas, 
and that I have let you write to me as if we were 
engaged. If I am hurting your feelings now, I 
hope you will forgive me, and believe that I am 
now and always 

cc Your Friend and well-wisher, 

“ Sidney Bruce Page.” 



Chapter II 

A Cross of Bitter Herbs 

" If I said so, I told you a story. 

For my heart is Jo Hardy’s alone. ” 

— Mrs. Norton. 

"Well?” said Sidney again, as I lowered 
the paper and looked, not at her, but at a robin 
that had alighted to take a shower-bath from 
the falling water. “ What have you got to say 
now ?” 

In truth, I was once more biting back what 
I was tempted to say. The particular sentence, 
kept with difficulty behind my locked teeth, 
was : — 


24 


A Cross of Bitter Herbs 


25 


“ You’ve spelled ‘candidly’ wrong!” 

The habit of correcting her orthography had 
been rooted by much practice. As a family, we 
Burwells spelled with absolute correctness. My 
mother considered correct orthography an essen- 
tial part of a gentlewoman’s education. I had 
to remind myself that Tom Garlick, although a 
graduate of William and Mary (!), was not likely 
to observe this one blunder in the very ladylike 
epistle that was to go to him. I rallied my 
“ company manners.” 

“You know your own sentiments best — ” 
slowly, and still watching the robin, subcon- 
sciously. 

It wore a bright red vest, untarnished by 
much sitting and brooding. It was, therefore, a 
male bird. 

Would Sidney, wondered my subconscious self, 
sport white muslin, pale pink kids, and hats to 
match, if she settled down in the nice House 
that needed a mistress? The suggestion was a 
“ bear ” in the way. Garlick stock was dropping 
steadily. Something within me revolted as at 
violence done to my finer nature. 


26 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


“ I should think I ought to ! ” retorted Sidney, 
with virtuous firmness. “ Some girls would flirt 
with him for weeks to come ; play fast and 
loose just to keep themselves in practice, and 
then drop him at last. That isn’t my way!” 

I patted the hand that stroked the pale pink 
gloves she had stretched to their fullest length. 

“You are too noble, too true-hearted, too 
just, and too merciful to be a coquette ! ” I said, 
in priggish approval. “ I am very sorry for 
him, yet I don’t see what else you can do but 
tell him the truth. And ” — picking my words 
as instinct warned me I was nearing thin ice — 
“ his letter doesn’t impress me as that of a man 
who would suffer keenly from a disappointment 
of the heart. He would, I think, take it very 
philosophically — ” 

“ You were never more mistaken in your 
life ! ” interposed my bosom friend, briskly. 
“He is desperately in love with me ! He prob- 
ably won’t take c no ’ for an answer the first 
time. I wouldn’t marry a man who would! 
Why, I made him court me six times in ten 
days before I’d give him one grain of encour- 


A Cross of Bitter Herbs 


27 


agement. He’ll suffer horribly , of course, but 
that is to be expected. What I’m most afraid 
of is that he’ll make trouble between me and 
Aunt Parke. She was mightily pleased when 
he courted me. I’m not her own child, don’t 
you see? and the money is Uncle Parke’s, not 
hers. And they’ll both be disappointed ! O 
dear ! ” 

She broke off with a sob in her throat, and 
took out her handkerchief. 

c< But she cannot want you to marry a man 
you can never love ! ” I hastened to comfort 
her. cc It would be a sin — a dreadful sin — to 
marry anybody unless you love him so well you 
cannot help it.” 

Sidney had dried the corner of each eye, and 
now stooped for a pebble to shy at the robin, 
who was fussily flirting the spray from his 
feathers — missing him, of course. Action and 
tone were abstracted. 

“ There’s no use crossing a bridge before you 
get to it ! ” she philosophized dreamily. Then, 
with a little shake of herself, not unlike the 
robin’s flutter, she altered her manner : — 


28 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


“ Suppose we talk about something more 
agreeable ! Did you ever happen to meet Len 
Brooks ? ” 

I laughed, and followed her lead cordially. 

c< I can’t say I’ve met him, except in passing 
on the street. He’s eternally on the street, 
you know. I’ve seen him a hundred times. 
‘ Dandy Len,’ people call him. He carries a 
shiny cane, and wears a shiny hat on the side of 
a shiny head, and shiny boots upon the prettiest 
little feet you ever saw, and a shiny ring upon 
the miminy-pimminist hand ! All together he is 
a lovey-duckey man, in his own opinion.” 

Sidney smiled, in stooping for another pebble. 
This time she shied it at nothing in particular, 
and presumably with better aim than before. 

cc And what is the opinion of other people ? 
I like to hear you talk, Molly Burwell ! No- 
body else amuses me as you do — you funny 
girl!” 

Thus encouraged, I dashed on. 

“ Cousin Frank Morton — and other men — 
call him c Monkey Brooks.’ He looks just like 
one, you know, if you have ever seen him. He 


A Cross of Bitter Herbs 29 

isn’t a bit handsome. He’s all clothes and 
get-up. Miss Margaret Morton, Cousin Frank’s 
sister, met him at a party last winter. He 
bored her to death, for he can’t talk anything 
but small talk and nonsense, and he gabbles 
all the time. So Miss Margaret got to thinking 
of something else, and didn’t know he had 
asked her a question, twice, until he said : — 

“‘The subject requires a quick-witted person 
to handle it. Miss Morton. It isn’t your fault 
if you can’t see as far into a millstone as some 
people.’ 

“ With that, Miss Margaret drew herself up 
and looked at him as a queen might look at a 
mouse — or a monkey ! and, said she, as smiling 
and as cool as could be — c I may not be able 
to see through a millstone, but I can see 
through babbling Brooks ! ’ Half a dozen people 
heard it and the story got all over town. Isn’t 
it funny you should have mentioned his name 
to-day ? I was thinking of that story just a 
minute ago. I suppose the ripple of the water 
put me in mind of c babbling Brooks.’ But 
how did you happen to speak of him ? ” 


30 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


Sidney laid one glove upon the other, and 
devoted her energies to the business of measur- 
ing the two to see if they were true yoke-fellows. 
Her eyes were fixed upon the task ; her lips 
tightened into a straight line, then relaxed into 
a mischievous smile. 

“ How did I happen to speak of him ? I 
suppose because I have thought of nobody else, 
awake or dreaming, for three weeks past. Because 
he loves me and I love him, and we are going 
to be married as soon as we can make our ar- 
rangements. Now — what has Miss Molly to 
say ? ” 

Nothing, — for what must have been fully two 
minutes, a whirling blank interval during which 
all was naught and naught was all. So sick and 
shaken was I that I could no more have moved 
than I could have spoken. 

The first straw my drowning brain caught at 
was “ Monkey Brooks ! ” 

I did not know I had articulated it until I 
heard Sidney repeat it merrily: — 

“ Yes, my dear ! ‘ Monkey Brooks/ c Dandy 

Len/ ( Babbling Brooks/ or whatever envious 


A Cross of Bitter Herbs 


3i 


people choose to call him. I don’t care a fig 
for what they say. He is the only man in the 
world for me. But it wasn’t fair in me to spring 
it upon you in that way. I wanted to hear what 
you would say before you knew how matters 
stand. And I found out ! ” 

Her relish of the joke, the clear gush of girlish 
laughter, and her absolute freedom from any 
thought of resentment, were as a dash of cold 
water in my face. I gasped, and thought and 
speech returned. 

<c I didn’t dream that you knew him ! ” I said, 
beginning to feel nettled. “ It was mean in you 
to let me run on about him when you — ” 

She finished the sentence, still good- 
humoredly : — 

“ Know him better than Mr. and Mrs. and 
Miss Morton, and anybody else in town, ever 
can ! I’m not a bit mad with you, or with your 
friends. It’s just amusing, that’s all, to see how 
much mistaken the wiseacres can be. I never 
met Len Brooks until the middle of April, the 
time the school was closed for a week because 
General Nunham was sick. I stayed that week 


32 When Grandmamma was Fourteen . 


with my mother’s cousins, the Curtis Clarkes in 
Hanover. They happen to be a sort of kinsfolks 
of Len — at least Mr. Clarke is — and he hap- 
pened to spend Sunday with them. It poured 
rain all of Sunday and Monday. You know 
what is bound to happen” — her face dimpling 
archly — “if a young fellow and a girl are shut 
up by the rain in a country house for two days. 
They will either hate one another forever after- 
wards, or they will fall in love. Well, we don’t 
hate one another — yet ! ” 

I had no answer ready. My brain was back 
at its work, and recalling more things about Len 
Brooks than I would have believed I knew two 
minutes ago. Most distinctly I recollected 
Cousin Frank’s emphatic reply to his wife when 
she looked up from a list of people she was in- 
viting to an evening party to say : — 

“ Ought we to ask Len Brooks, dear ? Won’t 
it seem rather marked if we always leave him 
out ? ” 

“ The more marked the better! ” his jaw square 
and his eyes stern. “ He is a dissolute puppy 
and a blackleg to boot ! ” 


A Cross of Bitter Herbs 


33 


I was only fourteen, but I knew the dictionary 
definition of “ dissolute ” and “ blackleg.” I 
was also sophisticated enough to know that 
Sidney would sooner set Frank Morton down 
as a malicious liar than credit what the words 
signified when applied to her lover. 

Her lover ! Len Brooks ! monkey, puppy, 
roue, and gambler ! And Sidney was my very 
dearest friend ! 

I plucked miserably and mechanically at a 
clump of wild tansy growing about the roots of 
the tree against which I leaned ; as mechanically 
arranged them into straight lines on my knee, 
wondering, all the while, what I should say — 
what I could say, and feeling as helpless as a fly 
clinging to the spoke of a swift wheel, afraid to 
let go and hardly able to hold on. 

Sidney prattled on — not effusively, but with 
evident satisfaction at having a safe confidante : — 

“ He sings like an angel, and plays on the 
guitar like a Spaniard ! I sang for him, and 
he sang for me, and we sang together by the 
hour. Cousin Julia Clarke had a sick headache 
Monday, and was only too glad to have us enter- 


34 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


tain one another. It cleared up by Tuesday, 
and Len had to go to town. But he was back 
Wednesday, and I was so glad to see him that 
I knew what it meant. Mr. Clarke was ‘ afraid 
it was dull music for me there, with Mrs. Clarke 
so poorly.’ He is a dear old gentleman ! He 
persuaded Len to stay until I went back to 
school. We rode horseback on Thursday, and 
had a heavenly buggy-ride on Friday. Len 
rides and drives as divinely as he sings and 
dances. He escorted me to town Monday. 
Cousin Julia wasn’t well enough to come home 
with us, but she sent her maid. We put her 
outside, up on the box with the driver, as soon 
as we were out of sight of the house. That was 
Len’s happy thought. On the way he asked 
me to marry him, out and out, like the honorable 
gentleman he is. I didn’t say c Yes ’ — then ! ” 
She laughed softly and with meaning. 

“ But you’ve said it since ? ” 

The words came reluctantly from a dry throat 
and mouth. 

“ I haven’t said ‘ No,’ and never shall. A 
little way out of town we took the maid into 


A Cross of Bitter Herbs 


35 


the carriage, and I put Len out before we got 
to the Nunnery, you may be sure. But I see 
him almost every day. He walks by the school- 
room windows twice a day, and I’ve happened 
to meet him on the street three times, and walked 
out to Gamble’s Hill with him, and I’ve spent 
two more Sundays with the Clarkes. All together 
we’ve managed things pretty well, I think. Len 
is just the cleverest fellow about such things ! ” 
I faced her in desperate courage. The words 
still stuck in my throat, but I dragged them 
out and threw them at her. 

“ Sidney ! I can t say I am glad for you ! 
I’m as sorry as I can be that Len Brooks ever 
set eyes on you. He is a bad man ! He drinks 
too much, and he lives by gambling, and he is 
vile in other ways ! He is a dissolute rake ! ” 
I had braced myself to face a tempest of indig- 
nant denial, such as I would have “ hurled ” at 
the slanderer of Mr. Frederic Sedley. I had 
rehearsed more than one such scene in imagi- 
nation. Instead of storming, Sidney laughed 
anew, a musical gurgle of genuine amusement. 
“You little gaby! Don’t you suppose I 


36 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


know he’s wicked ? That’s one reason I love 
him ! I’ve tried one model man. I want a 
change of diet ! ” 

“ You don’t know what you say ! ” The 
words burst forth fast enough now. “You 
can’t mean that you love a bad man — and 
because he is bad ! He will make you miser- 
able for life. He will degrade you and ruin 
you — body and soul!” 

“ What are you making that for ? ” 

Sidney spoke sharply, arresting the hand 
busied with the wild tansy. I looked down at 
my lap in a daze. I, too, wore a white dress, 
and, where it lay smooth from knee to knee, 
I had formed the leaves into a St. Andrew’s 
Cross, with never a thought of the shape they 
were taking. 

I sat transfixed, gazing on the weird symbol, 
a pain like a knife-thrust at my heart. I had 
imagination. Sidney had none, or next to none, 
but I believed she divined something of what 
was clear to me. I raised my eyes to her. 

“ A cross of bitter herbs ! ” I said, in awe- 
stricken tones. “ I didn’t know what I was 


A Cross of Bitter Herbs 


37 


doing until you spoke. Sidney Page! it means 
something! It is an omen!” 

Neither knew anything of melodrama. But 
that was what she charged upon me, as she 
brushed the leaves contemptuously from my 
lap. 

“ You’re foreverlastingly making up stories 
and acting plays to yourself, Molly Burwell ! 
I’ve heard people say you had talent, but you 
have less common sense than anybody I know. 
You'll be an author — or a poet — or act plays, 
or something like that, some day, if you don’t 
look out; and then you’ll live and die an old 
maid, for sure ! I’m not a genius, and I’m 
glad of it. I mean to marry some nice fellow 
— Len Brooks, I hope — and settle down into 
a respectable married woman, with a houseful 
of children, I suppose, — little plagues!” 

Sidney never minced her mind into pretty 
dice. 

“ But I mean to have my swing first. Good 
gracious ! The sun is down ! The dew will 
take all the starch out of my frock, and I shall 
be late to supper ! ” 


38 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


She worked her supple fingers into the pale 
pink kids as we walked up the western slope, 
I pulling mine on more easily, for they were 
of open-work white silk, and elastic. My eyes 
were upon them while I brooded upon the 
change that had fallen upon my spirit since I 
sat me down above the leaping spring and tin- 
kling runlet. I should have walked up against a 
man in the gateway if he had not stepped aside. 

“ Why ! ” cried Sidney, at the same instant ; 
cc how did you happen to be here ? ” 

<c Pure coincidence ! ” said Mr. Brooks, bow- 
ing low, his hand upon the place where men 
are fabled to wear their hearts. 

I knew it was a lie. His voice — I had never 
heard it before — rang false. His eyes were 
as false as his voice. I met them full for a 
second, as Sidney demurely introduced, cc My 
friend, Miss Burwell ! ” There was an insolent 
smile in them, or so I fancied. He was all of 
thirty years old, a dandy about town. I was 
a schoolgirl in a plain cambric frock and sec- 
ond-best straw bonnet. I felt suddenly awk- 
ward, overgrown, and ill dressed. If I had 


A Cross of Bitter Herbs 


39 


not doubted him before, I should have hated 
him now for having the power to put me at 
such wretched disadvantage. 

He fell into step with us, Sidney next to 
him, I, sullen and shy, on the inside of the 
walk, and falling behind Sidney whenever we 
met anybody. The streets were lively with 
people going home to supper. 

Sidney and her lover were talkative — to one 
another. He was gallant, with an undercur- 
rent of tenderness he may have thought me 
too stupid to detect. I thought it in as poor 
taste as Sidney's open coquetry, and their many 
references to former interviews and scenes of 
which I could have no knowledge. 

It was all ill-bred and horrid 1 Len Brooks's 
light tenor voice and drawl, Sidney's affected 
laugh, as she bandied phrases with him they 
fancied I did not comprehend ; the exchange 
of glances ; their very way of leaning together 
while they talked — became insupportable be- 
fore we had walked four squares. We were at 
the corner of Sixth and Leigh streets, when 
Sidney remarked airily : — 


40 When Grandmamma, was Fourteen 


“ I hope you are not laying the flattering 
unction to your soul that we are going to let you 
walk all the way home with us ? The Lady 
Superior would set the dogs upon you. You 
must leave us at Broad Street, — maybe sooner. 
One of the Sisterhood might be out shopping 
and catch a glimpse of the wolf. You are a 
wolf, you know ! 99 

“ How cruel ! ” 

I heard no more. The Frank Mortons lived 
on Marshall Street below Eighth. A string of 
pedestrians was crossing Sixth Street toward us. 
I fell back to let them pass and, under cover 
of the moving line, I turned about and took my 
breathless way down the street. I calculated 
shrewdly that my late companions would not 
miss me until I was beyond recall. It was 
hardly within the limits of possibility that the 
languid dandy would run after me and tap me 
on the shoulder. Yet the queer twitching in 
my spine meant the apprehension of this arrest. 
As I ran up the steps of Cousin Frank’s house, 
I ventured to glance up the street. There was, 
of course, no sign of pursuit. I ought to have 


A Cross of Bitter Herbs 


4i 


been relieved. In fact, my heart turned over 
with a seasick roll, and dropped like a pound 
of cold lead as far as it would go. By the time 
I got up to my room, I could not see the 
brass stair-rods for the silly tears. 

Mary ’Liza was out with Cousin Molly Belle. 
There was no one to hear the cry with which 
I threw myself (when I had taken my bonnet 
off*) face downward upon the bed — as my favor- 
ite heroines always did — and sobbed out my 
griefful disappointment. 

“ She never missed me ! She would not have 
cared if she had ! ” was the first cry, made bitter by 
wounded vanity. Then a paroxysm of girlish 
weeping proved the reality of my sense of loss. 

My intimacy with Sidney Page had made up 
so much of my happiness for two years past that 
disillusion was anguish. I did not try to keep 
the dream alive. It had died hard, but it was 
dead — slain by the discovery that the friend in 
whom I trusted was shallow of heart, coarse in 
sentiment, fickle, and, worst of all, vulgar in taste 
and in expression. 

I could not be as sorry for her discarded 


42 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


lover as I could have wished, as I felt was just 
and humane. It was not easy to be romantic 
over the woes of a man whose lavish use of capi- 
tals and lawlessness in the matter of spelling had 
jarred upon my preconceived ideas of what a 
love-letter should be. I recollected, too, against 
my will, his complacent summary of the attrac- 
tions of the home she was welcome to enter as 
soon as she could get her wedding-clothes ready. 

These defects in one man did not palliate the 
enormity of her action in falling in love with that 
monkey-faced, insolent rake ! 

“ A good woman cannot love a bad man ! ” 

I spat out the epigram in the remorseless arro- 
gancy of youth. 

Sidney’s unblushing declaration that she loved 
that — marmoset l because he was wicked, was the 
axe laid at the root of the fair tree of our friendship. 

By and by I got up from the bed and took a 
portfolio from the drawer of my writing-table. 
Sidney’s birthday would fall on May 20 — a 
week off. I had written an ode to accompany 
the gift I had selected. Nobody had read it. 
Nobody was to know anything of it, excepting 


A Cross of Bitter Herbs 


43 


Sidney. There were eight verses, of eight lines 
each. I read the fair copy with eyes that smarted 
dryly. There were no more tears to come. 

Thus ran the first verse : — 

“ You’ve not forgot the City Spring 
And the tinkling brooklet sweet. 

And crooked trees with whispering leaves 
Arching our rude retreat. 

Others might scorn th’ unpainted bench 
And gnarled, fantastic bough ; 

We loved the green nook dearly then, 

/ love it dearly now ! ’ ’ 

Another verse — I think the sixth — might 
have been annotated, — “After the Irish Emi- 
grant’s Lament.” I was honest in the belief that 
it was original when it came to me, full grown, in 
the silent midnight watches when Mary ’Liza 
had been asleep for two hours : — 

“ That love has saved me often, Sidney, 

When my trust in man has died. 

And my wounded heart put armor on 
Of stern, suspicious pride. 

In your dear eyes I read rebuke, 

I knew your stainless truth. 

And blessed the world that was your home. 
Companion of my youth.” 


44 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


Bathos ? Maybe so ! But there is a strange 
ache in my heart while I smile at the memory. 

The ache was a pang, and keen, when I tore 
the manuscript pages — there were four, and of 
scented letter-paper — into bits no bigger than 
my thumb-nail, and scattered them upon the 
garden-beds under my windows. I was suffering 
really and intensely, even when I leaned down- 
ward in the breezeless air, and wondered if they, 
too, would collect into a symmetrical shape, like 
my cross of bitter herbs. 



Chapter III 

I keep my Sorrow to Myself 

“ A secret at home is like rocks under tide.” 

— D. M. Mulock. 

FrOM my babyhood up I have found the 
Christian Sabbath, as we were trained to observe 
it in that All-so-long-ago, a benediction upon the 
week that lies behind it, and a tonic-promise for 
that succeeding the “ day of rest and gladness. 0 

I arose on the morrow of that Saturday of loss 
and sorrow, free from the headache that had sent 
me supperless to bed. There was no surcease 
in the sense of bereavement. Wherever I might 
go, and whatever I might do, I must carry my 
45 


46 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


pain with me. I must also keep it to myself. 
I had made familiar acquaintance with the Apoc- 
rypha in the course of my Sunday readings ; not 
as an inspired book, but a mighty interesting one. 
A passage that came into my head as I unclosed 
my eyes upon a world strangely shadowed by 
yesterday’s disillusion, abode with me all day : — 

“ Now , therefore , keep thy sorrow to thyself and 
hear with a good courage that which hath befallen 
thee.” 

That was the duty laid upon me, — my cross 
of bitter herbs. I harked back continually to the 
cc omen.” I would C£ suffer and be strong.” 

The story of my disappointment, the shock 
of the Ideal’s overthrow ; the green and smarting 
wound in my heart of hearts — was my secret. 
Pride, honor, and a sense of what I owed to that 
dear Past and slain love sealed my lips. 

I ate my breakfast in forced cheerfulness, went 
at nine o’clock to the Sunday-school of the 
Second Presbyterian Church ; attended divine 
service morning and afternoon in the same 
church, and strove to pay devout heed to prayer, 
praise, and sermon. A family concert of sacred 


I keep my Sorrow to Myself 


47 


music was the closing service of the holy day in 
the Presbyterian households of that day. All 
the Mortons had been Presbyterians since the 
secession of many godly Virginian families from 
the Established Church under the lead of Master 
Samuel Davies of blessed memory. Time was 
when I could sing, without the book, at least one 
hundred of the “Village Hymns,” compiled by 
John Newton and William Cowper, and in gen- 
eral use in Virginia churches. Mear , Duke Street , 
China , Pilesgrove , Zerah , Dundee , St. Martin s, 
Hebron , and a dozen other old tunes still bring 
back to me the scenes that marked the outgoings 
of the “ Day of all the week the best,” dear to 
the heart of the least child in the home. * 

We Burwells sang “by note” almost from our 
cradles, and the fine voices of the Mortons were a 
matter of traditional pride. 

We had supper before sundown that the ser- 
vants might have the evening to themselves. 
Then we adjourned to the front parlor for our 
concert. Mary 'Liza sat at the piano, a pretty 
girl of sixteen, her fair hair parted smoothly above 
a serious face, her voice, sweet and true, but 


48 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


never strong, joining in the soprano (we called it 
“the air”), carried by Cousin Molly Belle, as a 
river bears brooks onward to the sea. She always 
held the babyest of the flock upon her knee, 
her tiny pipe joining in as soon as she had 
learned the least scrap of the tune. Cousin 
Frank’s bass was strong and rich, and I had 
lately discovered that I could accomplish a toler- 
able alto. We sang thus — without book after 
the twilight blurred the page — until the fragrant 
May night set in and the baby fell asleep in her 
nurse’s arms. Then each of us repeated a text of 
Scripture, and we knelt while the master of the 
household offered a brief thanksgiving for the 
pleasant “day’s march nearer home,” and a peti- 
tion for healthful slumbers that might strengthen 
us for another week of work and opportunity for 
each soldier to do his duty at his post. 

I sought my pillow in a more tranquil mood, 
rested, if not comforted, and the dear old tunes 
sang themselves over and over in my ears until I 
lost the echoes in dreamland. 

Day broke early at that season. As a country- 
bred girl, I had a fancy of rising with the sun to 


I keep my Sorrow to Myself 


49 


taste the newly made air before it was defiled 
by smoke and stirred dust. Richmond was an 
orderly town. A woman might fare forth at 
dawn, and walk from Rockett's to Bacon's Quarter 
Branch, without molestation from word or glance. 
Sometimes Cousin Molly Belle would advise me 
to take the little mulatto Rose, who had been sent 
from our Powhatan home to wait upon Mary 'Liza 
and myself, and to be trained for the duties of the 
office she was to fill as <c own ladies’ maid." She 
was a nice child, just my age, and would walk 
respectfully the conventional ten paces behind 
me, never speaking except when spoken to. Her 
presence would have irked me to-day. I longed 
to walk fast and far, until I had tramped away 
from haunting memories. But for this idea, I 
should have lacked courage to leave my bed. 
While the light was yet like the shimmer of a 
gray gossamer curtain outside of my window, I lay, 
staring dolefully at it, asking myself in all good 
faith, if there were aught in the world, or in life, 
worth the trouble of getting up and dressing for. 

Then the broadening radiance of the May day 
called to me, and I responded by creeping silently 


50 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


out of bed and dressing with such noiseless haste 
that Mary 'Liza’s soft, regular breathing was not 
once intermitted. I let myself out of the front 
door, telling Freeman, the man-servant who was 
scrubbing the sidewalk, to say' to Mrs. Morton 
that I would be back for breakfast. Then I 
struck into the long, steady step I had practised 
with Cousin Frank, who was a famous pedestrian. 
Meeting, on an average, but two people to a 
square, I held on my way, first across, then up 
town, until I climbed the broken ridges of Gam- 
ble’s Hill and stood upon the summit. 

It is a pleasure park now, laid out trimly with 
gravelled walks and patches of shaven sward, and 
furnished with benches. Houses have crowded 
as far up the sides of the hill as the park limits 
will allow, until, to the fancy of one who knew it 
in the heyday of the Old South, the broad breast 
of the ancient landmark seems to pant for breath. 

As I paced the ragged turf on the brow of the 
eminence, crushing the sheep-mint and tansy 
until their protestant breath perfumed the dew- 
laden air, the spot was as complete a solitude as a 
forest dell. The hoary walls and four-sided roof 


/ keep my Sorrow to Myself 


5i 


of the house which was part of the noble fortune 
bestowed with the love and hand of the heiress 
of all the Gambles upon William Wirt, were but 
a few rods away. There was not another human 
habitation within an eighth of a mile. From the 
gorge below arose the sonorous chant of the 
rapids. The Monarch of Virginia rivers dallied 
with his wooded islets, and spread silvery sheets 
over the widening channel. The city he had 
made and nourished into vigorous maturity was 
still asleep. From the thither bank green planta- 
tions swelled back gently to the horizon line of 
benignant hills. 

“ Bonny — bonny Virginia ! ” I cried in a sort 
of ecstasy. After all, it was glorious to be alive 
and here ! and now — in the very heart of 
the wonderful nineteenth century. My heart 
deepened, my thoughts mounted upon wings as 
eagles under the inspiration of the hour and scene. 
I took in great draughts of the sweet, damp air 
from the distant heights beyond which this day 
which God had made was born. 

I could not put all this into words, but my 
soul labored in the divine travail of quickened 


52 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


intellect and lofty longings. Nature spoke to me 
through all that was best and most exalted in me. 
I was comforted as one whom his mother com- 
forteth. 

The air was so still that I heard every stroke 
of the barrack bell on Capitol Square at seven 
o’clock. The mellow tones awoke me as from a 
trance. I had just time to get home to prayers 
and to breakfast. 

“ Ah, well ! I have had my toner for the day ! ” 
I murmured, hurrying down the steepest and 
shortest of the many paths leading to the city. 

My most direct route homeward lay past Mrs. 
Nunham’s Seminary for Young Ladies, alluded 
to familiarly by pupils and their gallants as “the 
Nunnery.” It stood upon a corner, and, a 
square above, I turned into the street flanking 
the back yard and garden. The gate was ajar, 
held thus from within by a man’s gloved hand. 
I could see his coat-cuff and the sleeve up to the 
elbow. A few rapid steps brought his shoulder 
and profile into view. It was Mr. Leonard 
Brooks ! I was almost at the gate when he drew 
it shut at an exclamation in a voice I knew. 


/ keep my Sorrow to Myself 


53 


The street-wall was high, and embowering shrubs 
would screen the pair from the kitchen windows 
and those in the lower story of the house. 

Actual physical nausea gat hold of me in the 
fall from sky to earth. Girlish imprudence might 
have the excuse of ignorance and an excess of 
animal spirits. In lending herself to a low in- 
trigue, Sidney Page had sunk to the level of 
lady’s maid and butler. I had ceased to respect 
her on Saturday afternoon. I felt now that I 
could never love her again. 

Quick footfalls echoed mine before I had gone 
far. I knew them by intuition, as soon as they 
struck my ear. When they overtook me, and 
the pursuer caught the step from me, I would 
not look at him. Gazing right onward, I fool- 
ishly tried to outwalk him. When he laughed 
I could have struck him in his sneering face. 
His address was as insolent as the laugh. 

cc Whither away so fast, chaste Diana ? ” he 
said, and the hot blood beat into my very eyes. 
I grew dizzy. 

cc I have a message for you ! ” continued my 
tormentor. 


54 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


“ I don’t want to hear it ! ” retorted I, in a 
towering passion. “ And I can dispense with 
your company ! ” 

“ I have the advantage of you there ! ” The 
silky tenor voice betokened how keenly he en- 
joyed the scene I was making. “ I like your 
society so much that I mean to see you to Mr. 
Morton’s door. I am surprised that so strict 
a guardian of her neighbors’ morals as Mrs. 
Morton should allow her fair ward to go out 
alone at this ungodly hour of the day!” 

Stung beyond control, I retaliated with school- 
girlish vehemence : — 

“ It is quite as safe for me to be out early 
in the morning as it is for the young lady you 
have just left ! ” 

“ There we disagree again in opinion. The 
young lady I have just left — most unwillingly 

— was under my protection in her morning 
promenade. As you are, now ! Regard for 
your friend leads me to insist upon taking care 
of you, whether you will or not. I really hope ” 

— drawling out the words with a regretful 
cadence that angered me yet more than his 


I keep my Sorrow to Myself 


55 


laugh — “that you are not going to break into 
a run ! I am very swift of foot. You would 
not be so successful in getting away from me as 
you were on Saturday. You were not very 
polite, then ! ” 

The thirty-year-old man about town was 
patronizingly reproachful to the gawk of less 
than half his age. 

I locked my jaws and forged ahead. My 
haven of safety was now but a square away. 
He knew this, too, for he began to speak in a 
different tone : — 

“ Miss Sidney Page told me to give you her 
love — her dear love ! and to say that she knows 
she can trust your honor and your discretion. 
She says you have the nicest sense of honor of 
any woman she ever knew ; that you are one of 
the very few women with whom a friend’s secret 
is safe ! ” 

The speech was far too diplomatic to have 
originated with Sidney. This did not occur to me 
then. I was foolish enough to be touched to the 
quick by this token of her faith in me. At 
Cousin Frank’s gate I stopped to say huskily: — 


56 When Gra 7 idmamma was Fourteen 


"It is not likely that Miss Page or I will ever 
be on intimate terms again, but you can say to 
her that her secret is safe — now and always ! ” 

Then I walked up the steps with all the com- 
posure I could rally. At the top I heard, “ I 
thank you in her name ! ” in an accent of exag- 
gerated gratitude that made me tingle anew 
with wrath ; from the tail of my eye I caught 
the shadow of an uplifted hat and a profound 
obeisance projected across the sidewalk by the 
slant sunbeams. 

As I entered the house Cousin Molly Belle 
came out of the parlor, leading Baby Belle by 
the hand. She kissed me “ Good morning ! ” 
and “ hoped I had had a pleasant walk.” 

“ Baby Belle and I have been watching for 
you ever so long ! ” she said, quite in her usual 
manner. 

I reddened furiously. I knew that she had 
seen who my companion was, and that my con- 
fusion could not escape her quick perceptions. 
I felt like a hypocrite and a liar when I mum- 
bled — “ Quite pleasant — thank you ! ” and ran 
away to take off my bonnet. 


/ keep my Sorrow to Myself 


57 


Cousin Frank was a man, and he did ask at 
table in kindly solicitude if “ my head was ach- 
ing again, or had I walked so far and hard as 
to take the edge from my appetite ? ” 

Before I could answer, Cousin Molly Belle 
was “ sure his coffee was cold, standing so long,” 
and ordered Freeman to bring Mr. Morton’s 
cup to her to be filled with hot. 

Cousin Frank would not let it go. 

“My love!” he remonstrated plaintively. 
“ This is just cool enough to drink. I am not 
a salamander ! ” 

“Who was Sally Mander, Father?” asked 
Carter, a six-year-old, with a thirst for general 
knowledge. 

Everybody laughed, and nobody noticed my 
lack of appetite again. 

Monday’s recitations were a serious matter, 
and my studious cousin, who was always at the 
head of her classes, was as much inclined to 
silence this morning as I. Our gingham frocks 
and cottage bonnets — Mary ’Liza’s lined and 
trimmed with blue, mine with pink — were 
spick-and-span as became a new day and a new 


58 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


working week. As we walked side by side, 
silent and thoughtful, I suppose my companion 
was saying over her lessons to herself. I was 
envying her. She had no fell secret upon her 
mind. She was not burning and shivering alter- 
nately at the recollection of a bad man’s covert 
insults and the contamination of his society. 
She was not bowed to the dust in spirit by the 
loss of her trusted friend and by the sorer loss 
of self-respect. I was haunted by Cousin Molly 
Belle’s grave, loving eyes as she put the box 
containing my noonday “ snack” into my hand. 
The dear eyes I had never shrunk from meeting 
fully and gladly until now ! They said to me as 
plainly as words could that she trusted me in 
the face of all that was against me in seeming. 

That Leonard Brooks should have even a 
speaking acquaintance with me must be a painful 
puzzle to her, knowing him as she and her hus- 
band knew him, and that I, a raw schoolgirl, was 
not in the way of meeting him in society. His 
appearance at her door as my escort at that hour 
of the morning; my flushed face and evident 
perturbation ; my inability to eat or to talk at 


/ keep my Sorrow to Myself 


59 


breakfast, and my stubborn reserve toward her, 
who stood in my mother’s stead while I was in 
Richmond — all these things must have tried her 
faith in me and her patience with my vagaries to 
the utmost. Yet she trusted me and awaited 
my time for the explanation it was her right to 
demand. 

Sidney Page was not in her accustomed place 
when we assembled in the large schoolroom for 
morning prayers. On the way to the recitation 
room, when the brief service was over, I over- 
heard one girl wonder to another where the miss- 
ing pupil was. 

“ I asked Miss Serena just now, and she said 
that c Miss Page is indisposed this morning.’ 
See is . great upon dictionary words, you know. 
She told me, the other day, never to say I 
was c sick,’ but c indisposed ’ for a slight ailment, 
‘ ill ’ for a serious. So I suppose Sid has a slight 
ailment.” 

It was serious enough to keep her out of 
school all day. How the impression was made 
and how it gained ground nobody knew, but by 
the noon-recess the feeling that something was 


6o When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


amiss was prevalent. We ate our snacks any- 
where in the schoolrooms that suited our conven- 
ience and whims, usually with the accompaniment 
of clacking tongues and cackling laughter. To- 
day the girls gathered in whispering coteries 
about interchangeable sandwiches, cake, and 
pickles, with furtive glances over their shoulders 
when a door opened, or some one passed near 
enough to overhear the talk. At length, the 
floating nebulae of rumor materialized into a fixed 
belief that the “ something amiss ” in the orderly 
machinery of the school had to do with Sidney 
Page’s absence from her accustomed haunts. 
£C Ole Miss” — as the stately lady principal was 
styled behind her back — was shaken out of her 
habitual calm ; “ Big Bell ” (Miss Isabella) was 
as savage as a blood-stained meat-axe ; <c See ” 
was plaintive, and “ Dolly Dumpling ” (Miss 
Dorothy, who was short and plump) looked 
scared to death. Something was up ! Beyond 
these stable islands of fact, conjectures were as 
boundless as the sea and as restless. 

In my miserable preoccupation I turned ears 
that heard not, to the babble of tongues, and eyes 


/ keep my Sorrow to Myself 61 


that saw not, to the mystified faces. My snack 
of cold chicken, buttered biscuits, and sponge 
cake was bestowed upon a charity scholar from 
Manchester who never brought anything but 
soda-crackers and cheese in her luncheon-bag. 
Food was gravel to my teeth and the gall of bit- 
terness to my palate. I stole away from the 
gossiping crowd to the back yard ; seated my- 
self upon the lowest of the porch steps and 
pretended to be absorbed in a French grammar. 
My aspect was inclement, and the few who 
passed by refrained from interrupting my studies. 
Five minutes before the school bell recalled us 
to class-work, a small colored girl — a sort of 
“ slavey ” in the establishment — crept furtively 
up to me. She went by the name of “ Munch.” 
I have no idea what the abbreviation stood for. 
She had a three-cornered note in one hand. The 
other black paw was full of candy which I recog- 
nized instantly as Sidney Page's favorite pink 
cream-bars. Pink syrup oozed from one corner 
of Munch's mouth as she accosted me : — 

“ She done tell me fer to give dis ter you,” 
said the child, in muffled accents. 


62 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


The paper had pink smears upon it, and I 
opened it with the tips of my fingers. 

“ If you love me — ” Sidney had written, and 
then drawn her pencil through the line. “ If 
you ever loved me, not a word of what was said 
Saturday ! They know about this morning, and 
I am in dier disgrace . The cat’s head is out of 
the bag ! ” 

No address and no signature ! 

I tore up the sticky scrap of paper and worked 
the pieces into the mould with my foot before I 
returned to the schoolroom. 

That no element of discomfort might be lack' 
ing from that blackest of Mondays, M. Guil- 
laume was in one of his most savage humors. 
He snarled like a wild cat ; he roared like a lion ; 
he laughed like a hyena ; he paced the floor like 
a caged tiger, as the lesson proceeded. He was 
a disciple of the Manesca school — surely the 
most complex and profitless engine of education 
ever invented for the torture of the young idea. 
I was the youngest member of his senior class, 
and we were half through the cc Improved Sys- 
tem.” Not one of many sentences, interrogatif 


/ keep my Sorrow to Myself 63 


et negatif hurled at us in his stentorian bellow 
was less than thirty words long, and each hapless 
interlocutor was called upon to reply without the 
interval of a quarter-second between the fall of 
the last syllable from his tongue (he pronounced 
the word “ tong,”) and the terrified breath in 
which one began — “ Parceque — ” 

The two hours, lived under the glare of his 
eyes, the sardonic grin of his mustachioed mouth, 
the pelting hail of his corrections and criticisms — 
were enough to wreck the nerves of the average 
girl. We had some poor measure of satisfaction 
in calling him “ Le diable noir ” when out of his 
hearing. In class we were defenceless. He 
never commended, and his fault-finding was 
invective. When he had reduced the weaker to 
tears, the stronger to abject silence, and clothed 
all with confusion as with a garment, he was 
fiendishly content. To-day, with the exception 
of Mary ’Liza the impeccable, and one other 
pattern pupil, every girl in the class got from 
five to twenty “ Imperfect ” marks. As for my 
wretched self, I was bowled over by an interroga- 
tif-negatif combined with a subjonctif impersonnel 


64 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 

before the action had lasted five minutes, and 
never got upon my feet again. 

“ I don’t care ! ” said I, doggedly sullen, to 
Mary ’Liza, who opined, on the way home, that 
it was “ hard for anybody to be invariably perfect 
in the French class, and that it was a pity M. 
Guillaume was so hasty sometimes.” 

Mary ’Liza always avoided the use of cc strong 
expressions.” 

I was genuinely indifferent to my disgrace. In 
thinking of the word, I wished from the force 
of habit, and still sullenly, without caring much 
about it, that Sidney had not written “ dier.” 
One phrase in the sticky notelet ran through 
my brain : — 

“ If you ever loved me ! ” 

She had crossed out the half sentence she had 
written at first. She was aware, then, that I 
could not love her after the revelations of the 
past two days ! The five words set the tomb- 
stone above the dead love. 

I would not let myself think what that love 
had been. I kept my mind fixed upon one 
pivotal point. I had a secret to keep that 


I keep my Sorrow to Myself 65 

was not mine, and I must guard it at all 
hazards. 

A sour little smile twisted my lips when I 
recalled — “ The cat’s head is out of the bag!” 
There was no humor in the contortion. It was 
incredible that I should ever consider anything 
really funny again. 

School was dismissed at three. The Tobacco 
Warehouse — “ Exchange ” it would be now — 
of which Cousin Frank was a member, closed at 
the same hour. Therefore, three-quarters of the 
people in Richmond dined between three and 
four o’clock, the Mortons at half-past three. We 
had chicken pot-pie on that Monday, a dish that 
my soul loved then as it loveth it now. Cousin 
Molly Belle looked uneasy when I left half of 
the portion given to me upon my plate, and sur- 
prised when I said, “ No, thank you!” to her 
offer of transparent pudding. Still she asked 
no questions. 

When, after spending the rest of the afternoon 
in my room, presumably in preparing lessons for 
the morrow, I came down pale and appetiteless 
to supper, she leaned toward me as I sat at her 


66 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


right hand, and said softly, while the others were 
talking — “ Headache again, dear ? ” 

I nodded, the awful aching in my throat mak- 
ing me speechless. There was a shadow upon 
her face for some minutes ; maternal anxiety in 
her eyes. 

All the time I felt that she was trusting me 
and biding my time of disclosure. That hurt 
me through and through ! For that time would 
never come. What I was keeping from her was 
not mine to impart. 

The hardest fight with myself and with honor 
was when she followed me into the hall as I was 
getting myself off and upstairs after supper. She 
put both of her tender arms about me, drawing 
my head to her shoulder. 

“ I don’t like these frequent headaches, Name- 
sake. I am afraid you are studying too hard. 
You are going to bed now? I hope the poor 
head” — stroking it as she talked — “will be 
better to-morrow. If I can help you in any way, 
call me ! I am always yours to command, you 
know, my child. Good night ! ” 



Chapter IV 

I am put upon the Rack 

“ Now, if you can blush and cry ‘ Guilty ! * 

You’ll show a little honesty.” 

— Shakespeare . 

INSTEAD of going to bed, I sat down by the 
window in my room and looked out into the 
night, purposeless and hopeless. 

It was a warm evening. The two magnolia 
trees in the garden opposite were faintly lit up 
by many spikes of white blooms. The lamps 
on the age-worn front of the Strozzi Palace in 
Florence always remind me of magnolia blossoms 
in the airy grace of their uplifting. I could smell 
the flowers across the street, for a weak wind 
blew from them to me. I have never liked 
67 


68 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


the odor since. It revives too powerfully the 
memories of a night bordered with black for me. 

Mary ’Liza was practising The Watcher , a 
new song very popular that season. The air is 
still sung to an infant-class hymn. Mrs. S. J. 
Hale wrote the words. Mary ’Liza and I had 
had a discussion over the fifth line of the last 
verse on Saturday morning. 

“ A smile her lips was wreathing.” 

“ It doesn’t sound grammatical to say c her 
lips was wreathing,’ ” said my cousin. 

“ It is grammatical, no matter how it sounds,” 
I maintained. “ The smile wreaths the lips, not 
the lips the smile. That would be nonsense.” 

“ Suppose we say c A smile her lip was wreath- 
ing ? ’ ” suggested my cousin. “ That is sensible 
and grammatical, too.” 

Let Mary ’Liza alone for getting neatly out 
of a dilemma that would have abraded another 
girl’s temper ! 

She sang The Watcher through in her thin, 
sweet voice four times, while I sat there in the 
dark listening, and commenting upon the per- 


I am put upon the Rack 


69 


formance with the subconscious self I did not 
know then by name, intimate as I was with its 
workings. Every time she said, “ A smile her 
lip was wreathing.” 

“ I suppose the upper — or lower — lip did 
all the smiling ! ” I had retorted on Saturday. 

<c It sounds better,” was the placid reply. 

Mary 'Liza was too amiable to quarrel. Like 
other amiable people, she was obstinate. She 
never let her guns grow hot, but she never sur- 
rendered them. 

The petty annoyance of her placid persistency 
somehow made my real pain harder to bear. If 
the singer had begun upon a fifth repetition of 
the grewsome ballad, I felt that I must have 
rushed down and renewed the battle. 

She ceased in the middle of the cc one, two, 
three, four,” prelude. It belonged to what my 
cousin Dick Carter called “ the pinkety-punkety 
style ” of composition. 

There were visitors in the parlor. Men's 
voices sounded through the flooring. Mary 
'Liza would take her books into the dining room 
across the hall — still placidly. Now that the 


70 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


piano was stilled, a caged mocking-bird in the 
porch of the house over the way began to sing, 
and, without in the least comprehending why I 
did it, I began to cry — a passion of sobs that 
tore their way from my heart upward. The tears 
were still flowing, although I no longer sobbed, 
when I heard Mary 'Liza coming upstairs. I 
flew across the room to the wash-stand and 
dashed handfuls of cold water into my eyes. 

I heard Mary 'Liza put her books upon the 
table in the upper hall where she could get them 
in the morning for a half-hour’s study before 
breakfast. This was a sign that she was ready 
for bed. 

“ Are you sitting in the dark ? " she exclaimed 
in the reasonless style of speech used even by 
pattern women on such occasions. She stood 
upon the threshold, peering into the room, fear- 
ing to advance lest she might trip over chair 
or footstool. “ Cousin Molly Belle wants you 
downstairs if you have not gone to bed. I think 
some one has called who wishes to see you." 

“ To see me ! Who is it ? ” 

“ I do not know ! " She had struck a match 


/ am put up oil the Rack 


7 * 


and was lighting the lamp. “ She came into the 
dining room where I was studying and said : c Will 
you, please, tell Molly that I should like to have 
her come down ? If she has gone to bed, let me 
know.’ I asked no questions.” 

By the dim light of the kindling lamp my 
mirror said that my face was not red, or blotched, 
thanks to cold water and a judicious dab of the 
powder-bag. I ran down the stairs, languidly 
curious as to who the visitor might be, but with 
no prevision of what awaited me. 

Miss Isabella Nunham was the first person I 
noted in the tableau framed by the parlor door. 
She sat erect in a high-backed chair just opposite 
the door, and fixed me with a steely stare the 
instant I appeared. Near her sat Cousin Molly 
Belle, very grave, but composed in feature and 
bearing. Cousin Frank leaned an elbow on the 
mantel at his wife’s right hand, and a little behind 
the ladies. I got the idea at once — or my 
subconscious self received it — that he was a 
listener, rather than a participant in whatever 
talk was going on. The most prominent figure 
of the group was a tall man, with side whiskers 


72 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


like bunches of gray moss, and a very bushy 
head of hair, who stood bolt upright in the 
middle of the room, facing the door by which I 
was to enter. I recognized him as Judge Parke, 
the husband of Sidney Page's aunt for whom she 
was named, and by whom she had been adopted 
and brought up. 

I had seen him but once before, and that 
through the schoolroom window one day when 
he called at the Nunnery. I had thought his 
an imposing presence then. It was portentous 
now. He stood stock-still, towering feet upon 
feet above my head, staring at the insignificant 
figure rooted, for one awful instant, to the thresh- 
old. I courtesied mechanically. It was what 
physiologists term, “ a spasmodic action of the 
muscles, quite independent of conscious voli- 
tion." My feet were too heavy to lift. To my 
fascinated gaze the eyes that compelled that gaze 
grew larger, and scintillated like gig-lamps seen 
on a foggy night. 

Then Cousin Frank (blessings forever and for- 
ever upon his knightly soul !) stepped forward 
and took my hand in a large, warm clasp, and I 


I am put upon the Rack 73 

heard his voice — far off at first and not dis- 
tinctly, then clear and full and in my very ears: — 
“ This is our cousin. Miss Mary Burwell, 
Judge Parke. I am confident that she will ex- 
plain everything satisfactorily. ,, 

He had led me to a chair close by his wife's, 
and she was speaking : — 

“ My dear little girl, you need not look so 
frightened ! Judge Parke wished us to send for 
you that he might ask you a few questions. I 
would not go up for you lest he might think I 
had prepared you to answer him." 

The touch of pride in the speech appealed to 
his gallantry and breeding. 

“ Not at all, madam ! not at all! I desired to 
draw my own inferences from this young lady's 
demeanor when she should hear what I have to 
tell in her hearing. Have I your permission " 
— bowing with deferential courtesy that made 
him for the moment a degree less ogreish to my 
clearing eyesight — “ and yours, Mr. Morton, 
to examine her as to her knowledge of, and her 
complicity in, the plot of which I have spoken 
to you ? " 


74 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


In turning to me, he began to loom up again, 
to tower and to darken grimly. 

“ Ask as many questions as you like ! I will 
be her security that they will be answered truth- 
fully, ” returned my cousin, quietly, her hand 
closing more firmly upon mine. 

“Always assuming that Judge Parke will bear 
in mind the cardinal principle of law I have 
heard him enforce upon the consciences of 
jurors,” put in Cousin Frank, pleasantly, but 
with meaning. I comprehended I was to be 
considered innocent until proved to be guilty. 

Guilty? And of what? My face must have 
asked it, for my judge answered as if I had 
uttered the query : — 

“It would be well for me to go into the par- 
ticulars of the narrative I have already given, in 
part, to your relatives.” 

He was judicial — but as hard as flint — prose- 
cutor, witness, and judge in one. 

“ Mrs. Parke heard, on Saturday evening, a 
rumor that distressed her greatly — so greatly 
that I rode twenty miles yesterday morning to 
Mr. Curtis Clarke's in Hanover County — ” 


I am put upon the Rack 


75 


Halting abruptly, he looked keenly at me, 
then at my cousins. 

“ She has heard that name before, you will 
observe ! Have you not, Miss Mary Burwell ? ” 

I had felt a sort of galvanic thrill run along the 
cords of cheeks and mouth that contracted, then 
let them go. His question was a demand. I 
must speak. 

cc Yes, sir ! ” I said faintly. 

I had never been so horribly frightened before 
in my life, and the nervous strain of the past 
forty-eight hours was beginning to tell upon me. 
I was weak from crying and from fasting. 

“ She admits that much ! Good — thus far ! 
You knew, also, Miss Mary Burwell, that Sidney 
Page, your most intimate friend and Mrs. Parke’s 
adopted daughter, met at Mr. Curtis Clarke’s 
house one Leonard Brooks, a man of no reputa- 
tion — a drunken debauchee — a penniless gam- 
bler — a fellow who lives by his wits and the 
folly of people who are silly enough to be duped 
by him ” — his voice rising with the sounding 
periods, and the veins in his forehead swelling 
blackly. “ By Heaven ! ” — this to the company 


j6 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


at large — “I could strangle him with my bare 
hands when I think of my wife's niece having had 
any association with the scoundrel. And you, 
young lady," shaking a great forefinger at me, 
“ you helped her to deceive the aunt who has 
been more than a mother to the infatuated girl ! 
You were cognizant of the disgraceful plot to 
elope with this rascal to-morrow night. You 
were to help her run off to North Carolina and 
marry a drunken loafer. You have acted as the 
go-between of the precious pair. You cannot 
deny it — adepts in duplicity as you and your 
confederates are ! ” 

The prosecutor had got the better of the judge, 
and the prosecution was a blood-thirsty hunt. 
Curiously enough, I found room in the tumult 
of emotion possessing me to pity the criminals 
brought to his court. As curious was the effect 
wrought upon me by the astounding indictment 
he had thundered at me. I grew steady and 
resolute all at once ; terror fled before indignant 
amazement. I stood up, tremulous no longer, 
and looked full into his angry eyes. 

“Judge Parke! I never knew that Sidney 


I am put upon the Rack 


77 


Page meant to run away to be married until you 
told me just now. She never said a word to me 
of any such intention. I am not her confederate 
in any plot. I never helped her to deceive any- 
body. You may believe me, or not, as you please. 
I have told the straight truth.” 

I sat down again, spent and sick in the reaction 
from the stress of excitement. Cousin Molly 
Belle's arms closed about me ; my head dropped 
upon her bosom. Her voice was a heartening 
cordial. 

“ You may believe every word she has said. 
Judge. I would stake my life upon her truthful- 
ness.” 

Cousin Frank's word was as prompt: — 

“You have nothing but circumstantial evidence 
in rebuttal. And previous character should go 
for something.” 

“ There is no lack of direct rebutting evidence, 
Mr. Morton. Will Miss Nunham tell what she 
knows and what she saw with her own eyes ? 
Next to Mrs. Parke and myself, these estimable 
ladies, Mrs. Nunham and her daughters, have 
been the chief sufferers in this nefarious affair.” 


78 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


Miss Isabella was the eldest and the tallest of 
the quartette of sisters. She was rigid in princi- 
ple, uncompromising in decree, and uncharitable 
in judgment. Her duty on the present occasion 
was to convict of deliberate falsehood one whom 
she had never known to be guilty of an equivoca- 
tion, or a dishonorable deed, during three years* 
pupilage under her eye. She did not like the 
task. Believing me to be a schemer and a bare- 
faced liar, she did not shirk it. Her accents were 
prim and icy. 

“ Miss Rebecca Sanford — one of the young 
ladies of our family — mentioned, upon her return 
from a walk last Saturday afternoon, that she had 
seen, from the opposite side of Seventh Street, 
Miss Sidney Page and Miss Mary Burwell, 
accompanied by Mr. Leonard Brooks, walking 
together from the gate of the enclosure about the 
City Spring. They were laughing and talking 
together, apparently upon friendly, even intimate, 
terms. 

cc I conferred with my mother and my sisters 
with regard to the incident, and it was agreed 
between us that I should go to Miss Page’s room 


I am put upon the Rack 


79 


early Monday morning — not wishing to mar the 
peace of the Sabbath — and question her as to 
the particulars of what we were sure Judge and 
Mrs. Parke would consider an ill-advised ac- 
quaintanceship.” 

Judge Parke’s emphatic nod said, “ Here is a 
witness after my own heart.” 

“Which you proceeded to do,” he prompted 
her encouragingly. 

She repeated the words as he had said them. 

cc Which I proceeded to do. Miss Susan 
Patton, Miss Page’s room-mate, had spent the 
Sabbath with friends on Church Hill, and I 
hoped to find Miss Page alone. Knocking at 
her door, and receiving no answer, I entered. 
She was not there. Imagining that she might be 
in the schoolroom, or, perhaps, that she had gone 
to the music room to practise before breakfast, I 
lingered to set her room in order to some extent.” 

Cousin Molly Belle pinched my arm, and I 
saw, as with her eyes, “ Biggitty Bell ” on an 
exploring expedition through drawers and ward- 
robe closet. 

“ The room was close and I raised the window. 


So When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


As I did this my eye fell upon two figures in the 
yard below. They were Miss Sidney Page and 
Mr. Leonard Brooks.” 

She cleared her throat nervously, pressing her 
handkerchief daintily to her lips. 

“ Go on, if you please ! ” insisted the Judge, 
inexorable to the maidenly diffidence of his chief 
witness. 

“ They were taking an affectionate farewell.” 

Miss Isabella’s sallow face was oddly mottled 
with red. In the midst of my dread of what was 
to follow, I was reminded of a cake of Castile 
soap. 

“ In point of fact they were hugging and kiss- 
ing ! ” broke in my prosecutor, coarsely. “ There 
are times and seasons, Miss Nunham, when the 
cause of truth and justice requires the most fastidi- 
ous to call ugly things by ugly names. Your 
delicate reluctance to do this does honor to your 
womanhood. But I must ask that you tell us 
what followed the disgusting exhibition of which 
you were the unwilling witness? ” 

“When Mr. Brooks went out of the gate, he 
was concealed from my view by the garden wall 


I am put upon the Rack 


81 


until he reached the corner of Fifth Street. I 
saw, then, that he was with Miss Mary Burwell. 
They seemed to be talking confidentially, and 
remained together until they turned into Seventh 
Street. There I lost sight of them.” 

All eyes were focussed upon me. As by an 
electric flash, I saw the coherence and the se- 
quence of the evidence against me, as it must 
appear to my friends. Cousin Molly Belle had 
seen my arrival at her gate escorted by Leonard 
Brooks. I had offered no explanation of the 
singular occurrence, and my behavior for the two 
succeeding days was unnatural. In the depth of 
my anguished soul I acknowledged that I could 
not complain if she were to condemn me, then 
and there, and cast me out of her heart forever. 
Had she pushed me away from her with loathing, 
she would have been justified by what she had 
heard. And I had no defence except my simple 
word, unsupported by a scrap of evidence ! — no 
backing except the “ character ” Cousin Frank 
had alluded to just now. 

Where the strength came from I do not know, 
but, with the odds all against me, I stood up 


8 2 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


again and faced my accusers. I talked very fast, 
for I was doubtful how long the power of speech 
would last. 

“ Mr. Brooks met us Saturday as we were com- 
ing away from the City Spring. I stayed with 
them until we got to Marshall Street. Then I 
came home by myself. I went out to walk alone 
this morning, and never saw him until I caught 
a glimpse of him at Mrs. Nunham’s back gate. 
He overtook me at the corner and would walk 
with me. I told him I didn't want his company. 
He knew that I meant what I said, but he would 
not let me alone. I have never spoken a dozen 
sentences to him in my life. I never said any- 
thing to him and never met him before last 
Saturday. I was never a go-between for him or 
anybody else. Nobody has asked me to do it. 
I am nobody's accomplice. If you were to put 
me on the rack, I could tell you nothing more. 
I have told the truth to you, and nothing but the 
truth ! " 

Judge Parke was not a bad man. He was 
prejudiced against me, and he was very angry. 
Yet the sneer with which he put out his hand to 


I am put upon the Rack 


83 


intercept my movement toward the door was 
malevolent: — 

“Very well acted, young lady! But there are 
a few other questions for you to answer before I 
am through with you ! ” 

Cousin Frank interposed. He was angry, too, 
but he had his temper well in hand. 

“ Excuse me, Judge Parke ! I have consented 
to your examination of this child — this baby, by 
comparison with you and me ! — because I felt 
that you had much cause to be indignant and 
suspicious, and I wished to give you every pos- 
sible opportunity to get at the exact truth. I will 
not have her cross-examined in my house — or 
anywhere else if I can help it. Mrs. Morton and 
I are convinced that she has told you all she 
knows about this unfortunate affair. Let the 
investigation end here and now. She shall not 
be held upon the rack for one minute longer ! ” 

The Judge bowed, but the sneer was there 
still. 

“As you say, Mr. Morton! My belief in her 
complicity in what you are pleased to gloss over 
as c an unfortunate affair’ remains unchanged. 


84 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


Yet I bow to your decision, with one proviso. 
This young lady ” — the sneer was tigerish — 
“has said glibly — I do not say c pertly * in your 
house — that she has told the truth and nothing 
but the truth. Will you ask her in your name 
— not in mine, or in the name of justice and 
honor — if she has told the whole truth, as she 
knows it , with regard to her bosom friend’s rela- 
tions with this scoundrelly Brooks ? ” 

Cousin Frank stood by me, holding my hand, 
during his defence of the forlorn “ child ” he 
befriended so bravely. Without a moment’s hesi- 
tation he put a finger under my chin and lifted 
my face so that I could look into his kind eyes. 
Kind — and trustful ! That was the stab ! 

“ Molly, dear ! You can say the rest of 
it — can’t you ? W e don’t need to hear a word 
more, but it is fair to yourself to say it to 
others ! ” 

For one wild, agonized second I was tempted 
to befoul my soul with a downright lie ; for 
another, to brazen it out and to defy my tor- 
mentor. Every door of hope was closed except 
these two. And everything dear to me hung 


I am put tipon the Rack 


85 


upon the next sentence. I hope to heaven never 
to be met by another such temptation. My 
guardian angel may be farther away from me 
than he was on that black-cross night. 

“ I cant say it. Cousin Frank ! ” I said low and 
brokenly. 

With the supreme effort I lost sight of his 
shocked face. I heard but three words of Judge 
Parke's triumphant exclamation, before I passed 
away from them all into what I felt was death. 

The next thing I knew I was in my grave, lying 
peacefully under the sod, released from the tor- 
ture that had beaten the soul out of my body — 
and thankful to be just where I was. 

It was dark, and cool, and comfortable, beyond 
compare, in that safe retreat. My mind was 
clear, yet I felt that I was not “ all there." 
Something was missing from the Ego (I called it 
that) that had lived in that upper world. Not 
the body, certainly. Not the mind, or I could 
not think and reason. Was it the mysterious 
essence of immortality we call “ the soul ” ? 
Had that preceded the rest of me into the other 
life ? What then gave me consciousness ? What 


86 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


must rejoin the soul before the indestructible 
Ego would be perfect? 

A thought came to me. I had read lately in 
a German book the theory of the tripartite 
nature of the Human Creature. According to 
this, each of us is made up of the physical life ; 
the soul, comprehending the intellect and the 
emotions ; then, the spiritual, a tenuous essence 
that will never leave the body until mortality 
claims its own and sets the seal of decay upon 
the clay tabernacle. 

I wished I could get back to that old sphere 
long enough to explain to other people, as eager 
to learn of the Great Mystery as I once was, 
just how these things are, and how gentle is the 
process of “ passing,” so dreaded by those born 
of woman that we are, all our lifetime, subject 
to bondage through fear of death. 

Although so far underground, I could hear 
the birds singing over me, and a kind of joyous 
rustle I knew was the stir of the growing roots 
of grass and flowers. 

Presently — after many tranquil, dreamless 
hours — I heard the sound of hurried breathing 


I am put upon the Rack 


87 


as of some one running fast toward me. It grew 
louder and louder. I hoped the runner would 
not pass directly over my head and break my 
blessed repose. The murmur of voices mingled 
gradually with the quick-drawn breaths which I 
began to comprehend were my hurried respira- 
tions . 1 

The first voice I knew was Cousin Molly 
Belle’s. 

“ She is coming around all right, now ! The 
whole thing is as clear as daylight to me, Frank ! 
That artful girl took the poor, dear child into 
her confidence so far as she pleased, and bound 
her over not to tell. Molly would be cut into 
bits before she would betray another person’s 
secret.” 

I knew, by now, where and what I was. I 
sighed in opening my heavy eyes. 

cc How did you know ? ” I whispered. 

She laughed and kissed me. 

“ Don’t talk or think now, Namesake ! There 
will be time enough for that ! ” 

Her sweet eyes were full of tears. 


1 Every feature of the swoon-fantasy was an actual experience. 


88 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


And neither then, nor ever, did she ask any 
questions as to the “ whole truth ” she had 
guessed in part. 

Cousin Frank and I, in talking of her, 
often agreed that if Solomon had lived in the 
middle of the nineteenth century, he would have 
revised the first edition of Ecclesiastes 7:28, 
having, at last, found his “ Woman among a 
Thousand.” 



Chapter V 

Duped Again! 

“The mouse that hath but one hole is quickly taken.* * 

— Herbert. 

It was a week before I was allowed to leave my 
chamber. I was not “ ill ” according to Miss 
Serena’s definition, for my indisposition was at 
no time serious. Nothing was written of it, or 
of the cause of it, to my parents. My mother 
had a baby boy, three weeks old, and it was 
thought best not to trouble her with the story. 
I suppose my ailment would be diagnosed in our 
day as nervous prostration. We may have 
known of the thing itself then. The name it 
goes by with modern physicians and wealthy 
patients had not been manufactured. 

89 


90 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


So far as I can judge of a malady since un- 
known in my personal experience, people who 
can afford to be subjugated by general physical 
good-for-nothingness have nervous prostration 
and go abroad. Those who must work for a 
living take quinine, and a week off at the sea- 
shore, and worry along somehow. 

Not suspecting how near I was to the “verge,” 
I obeyed orders, swallowed tonics and nourishing 
food, and lay upon a sofa by day, as by night, 
except when Cousin Frank carried me downstairs 
in his arms to put me into a carriage, and Cousin 
Molly Belle took me for an easy, out-of-town 
drive. Not a book was to be opened in my 
sight, and agitating topics were strictly forbidden 
by the family physician. My slumbers were 
light and broken. I would awake from uneasy 
dreams, struggling for breath and throwing out 
my hands like one drowning. Cousin Molly 
Belle’s voice and touch were ready on the instant 
to sooth and reassure me. 

She told me frankly, to end suspense that 
would be harder to bear than anything else, that 
Judge Parke had taken his ward home with him 


Duped Again ! 


9i 


on Tuesday morning, and that there had been a 
terrible scene with Leonard Brooks, whom the 
irascible old gentleman had threatened to shoot 
should he ever attempt to reopen communication 
with his wife’s niece. 

Cousin Frank had come into the room while 
his wife was talking, and heard the threat. 

“He need not be uneasy on that point,” he 
said, dryly. “The Judge’s assurance that his 
niece would never see a dollar of his money if 
she married him was enough for Len. That was 
what he had counted upon. The general impres- 
sion is that the poor girl will be an heiress.” 

“ Poor girl ! ” echoed I. 

Cousin Molly Belle rejoined, “ You may well 
say it ! ” and there the matter dropped. Several 
weeks afterward the story went through the school 
that Sidney was to travel at the North with her 
aunt during the summer, and that she was “ kept 
very strict.” I heard no more of her until — 

But — as the master of short-story writing puts 
it — “that is another story.” 

I record with satisfaction that, before leaving 
Mrs. Nunham’s house, Sidney confessed to her 


92 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


that I was totally ignorant of her elopement 
scheme. Miss Isabella made a special call upon 
Cousin Molly Belle to inform her of this, and, 
like the upright woman she was, to express her 
penitence for the unjust suspicions she had 
entertained and expressed. 

So, when I returned to school, I had no 
prejudices to live down. The teachers received 
me with marked cordiality, and the girls were 
friendly. The ordeal through which I had passed 
left traces which were not to wear away in a 
long time. I was not exactly embittered toward 
my kind. The unshaken loyalty of my cousins, 
and the confidence in my integrity expressed by 
my preceptors, held me back from misanthropy. 
I did, however, resolve to have no more intimate 
friends. In that direction — 

** My wounded heart put armor on 
Of stern, suspicious pride.” 

I was on pleasant terms with my mates, but I 
had no confidences with any of them. As the 
days went on, I was — to quote darling Marjorie 
Fleming — “puffed up with majestic pride” that 
my stoical resolution did not waver. I cultivated 


Duped Again ! 


93 


a dignified serenity of demeanor, a polished 
civility, warranted to hold the most presuming 
schoolgirl at arm's-length. I studied assiduously 
during recess, and when school was over I went 
directly home. 

It was, therefore, a surprise to me when, on the 
first day of June, which fell on Tuesday that year, 
Julia Dorman, a “really and truly” grown-up 
young lady who had entered the school at Christ- 
mas as a parlor boarder, joined me upon the rustic 
seat under a rusty Otaheite mulberry tree in the 
back yard, where I had stationed myself with my 
book for the rest of the intermission, and accosted 
me cordially. She was a stately girl, eighteen 
years old, with a high forehead and an aquiline 
nose. Her voice was singularly musical in 
speaking, her manner winning when she cared to 
win. Her father had been a Congressman, I 
think, and he was distinguished in other ways. 
I heard her say once, incidentally, that he might 
have been President if he had been less conscien- 
tious. She had also let fall several times, in my 
hearing, allusions to her cousin, Major Peachy, 
“a retired army officer.” Altogether, we juniors 


94 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


had the impression that her forebears and con- 
geners walked and stood very high in society and 
state. She dressed tastefully and went to parties 
of various kinds several times a week. As a 
parlor boarder she took special branches — music 
and drawing and French conversation. 

Dignified serenity and calm civility was hardly 
the role to be adopted by her junior and sub- 
class scholar. I arose, when she approached, to 
give her the whole seat. My amazement was 
unutterable when she passed her arm about my 
waist, and drew me back upon the bench close to 
her side. 

ct What a shy, unapproachable being you are ! ” 
she began in her soft contralto. “ I have been 
longing to know you better all these months, but 
others had stronger claims upon you.” 

This was the beginning of our more familiar in- 
tercourse. She did not seek intimacy. As she told 
me, she “ was not one to form violent friendships. 
Whatever is of value is of slow growth.” But she 
let me see that she liked me, and that she enjoyed 
my society. On Wednesday, she invited me to 
walk with her. We took in Pizzini’s on our way 


Duped Again ! 


95 


home, and she treated me to ice cream and bon- 
bons. On Friday, she asked me if I would mind 
going down-town with her in the afternoon. She 
had oceans of shopping to do before she went 
home ; and it was such a bore to go alone ! I 
had meant to walk somewhere, and I said so, 
with as fair a show of dignified serenity as I could 
assume, and of which I was ashamed when she 
thanked me sweetly for giving up a pleasure 
stroll to gratify her. She bought a great many 
things, taking lighter parcels home, and ordering 
the heavier to be sent to Mrs. Nunham’s. Some 
of the things were charged to herself, some 
to “ Major Montague Peachy, The Virginia 
House/* As we parted at Mrs. Nunham’s gate, 
she took a filmy handkerchief from her pocket 
and gave it to me. 

“ I wouldn’t have it wrapped up because I 
wanted you to take it home with you now. I 
bought it expressly for you/* 

As I stammered my thanks, she stooped to 
kiss me — there in the street — impulsiveness for 
which I was not prepared, and told me I was 
“ too bewitching for anything ! ” 


g6 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


Next morning “ Munch ” brought a note 
around to me soon after breakfast. 

“ Dear Molly,” it said, “ A friend of my 
cousin Major Peachy is going out of town for a 
couple of days and has lent me her carriage for 
the whole of to-day, if I want it. It is too warm 
for much walking, so I propose that you and I 
avail ourselves of her kindness and do a long 
morning’s shopping on wheels. We will have a 
drive first, and I will bring you home in time for 
dinner. 

“ Do go \ I will call for you at half-past nine, 
if you say c Yes.’ 

“ Affectionately yours, 

“Julia Peachy Dorman.” 

I showed the note to Cousin Molly Belle, as 
I had showed the handkerchief. She read it 
over twice — which I thought strange, and read 
the signature aloud, stroking her chin thought- 
fully. Then she said : — 

“ I see no reason why you should not go, 
Molly dear. And I hope you will have a 
jolly outing ! ” 


Duped Again ! 


97 


I was ready when Julia called for me. I 
had put on a white lawn frock, dotted with 
bunches of pinks. My sash was pink and I 
wore my best bonnet, a Neapolitan straw so thin 
that the pink lining blushed through it. My 
gloves were white. Cousin Molly Belle ap- 
proved of my looking as nice as possible on 
this expedition, if it was on a week day. The 
carriage was new and handsome. The coach- 
man was spruce and gray-haired. The horses 
were black and sleek. 

“You suttinly is goin’ shoppin' like a queen, 
terday ! ” chuckled Flora, Cousin Molly Belle's 
maid, giving a parting twitch to my sash -bows, 
as the carriage drew up to the curbstone. 

I thought the same to myself, but betrayed 
no undue satisfaction as I sank back in the 
luxurious cushions, and we rolled down the 
street. Our drive was to be up-town, and while 
we took it, Julia Dorman told me the story of 
Major Peachy's friend, the fortunate owner of 
carriage and horses. 

“You must have heard of her,'' she said. 
“ Miss Barbara Allen ? She lives on Franklin 


98 When Grandmamma, was Fourteen 


Street, in that fine, old, red brick house sur- 
rounded by a garden.” 

I recollected the name, I told her, on ac- 
count of the old ballad, and I repeated the first 
verse : — 

“ ’Twas in the blooming month of May, 

The buds they were a-swelling. 

Young Jamie on his death-bed lay 
For love of Barbara Allen.’ * 

Julia laughed. 

“ Isn’t it an absurd name ? There was a 
romance in her life, too. She was a beauty 
and a belle in her day, I have heard my mother 
say. She was engaged for seven years to my 
cousin. Major Peachy. He’s my father’s cousin, 
you know. Old Mr. Allen was opposed to the 
match, for some reason. I believe he did not 
want Miss Barbara to marry anybody, and he 
took a dislike to Major Peachy. I don’t see 
why! My mother says he was as handsome 
as a picture when he was in his prime. He 
was in the War of 1812, although a mere boy, 
and showed great bravery. When Lafayette 
was in Richmond in 1824, Major Peachy was 


Duped Again ! 


99 


about thirty, and Miss Barbara Allen twenty- 
five. They were the handsomest pair of dancers 
at the Lafayette ball. Lafayette said she was 
the finest-looking woman he saw in America.” 

I had heard the same story of a dozen other 
belles in various cities visited by the illustrious 
marquis, and believed in my heart that each was 
true. The gallant Frenchman understood and 
lived up to his duty in the matter of homage 
to the sex that adored him. Having learned by 
now that the saving sense of humor was lacking 
from the composition of my new friend, I for- 
bore to interpolate at this point of the romance. 

“ She had a sister, much younger than her- 
self, a very pretty girl, who was educated in 
France — or in England. Maybe in both. Her 
uncle had some foreign appointment, and when 
Mrs. Allen died, Agnes, then a little girl, went 
to live with her aunt, and Miss Barbara stayed 
to take care of her father. It almost killed 
her to let her sister go. Their mother had been 
an invalid ever since Agnes was born, and Miss 
Barbara took care of her entirely. When Agnes 
was eighteen her aunt died, and Mr. Allen died, 


L, OF C. 


ioo When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


and Miss Barbara went across the ocean to bring 
her “ child,” as she always called her, back to 
America. Major Peachy wanted her to stay 
at home and marry him. But she said, “ No! 
something was due to her father’s memory, and 
he had begged her on his death-bed not to be 
married under a year after he died.” Well, she 
brought Agnes home, and Major Peachy fell 
desperately in love with her at sight, and in six 
months he married her ! ” 

“ Horrible ! ” I cried. “ What base double 
treachery ! How did Miss Barbara live through 
it?” 

“ My mother said she behaved magnificently ! 
Her father had left three-fourths of his fortune 
to her. She divided the estate in half, and set 
Agnes up in a pretty home of her own, Miss 
Barbara keeping the homestead. Nobody ever 
heard a murmur from her. To all appearance 
she was entirely satisfied with the new arrange- 
ment. Agnes lived but two years. Since her 
death Miss Barbara and Major Peachy have 
been the best friends in the world. He spends 
all his evenings there.” 


Duped Again ! 


IOI 


“ Why don’t they get married ? ” 

“ A man can’t marry his sister-in-law. At 
least, not in Virginia. And she is a Presby- 
terian. It’s against the law of their church. 
And” — indifferently — “ I don’t suppose they 
ever think of such things now. She must be 
fifty, and he is five years older, you know.” 

The shopping expedition was a grand success. 
As soon as the carriage, laden to the windows 
with parcels, had set me down at home, I rushed 
up to Cousin Molly Belle’s room with my bur- 
den of gossip. We had visited dry-goods stores 
by the half dozen ; likewise fancy stores and 
confectioners, peeped into two book-stores, di- 
vided an hour between two jewellery “ establish- 
ments,” and “ looked at things ” in a china 
shop, and an apothecary’s who had a fine assort- 
ment of knickknacks and perfumery. 

“We had ice cream at Pizzini’s at twelve 
o’clock, and cake, of course,” I concluded. “And 
Julia would force a pound of candy upon me. 
She is a very generous girl. It was all I could 
do to make her keep a gold pencil and a wee 
breastpin she bought at Mitchell and Tyler’s. 


102 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


She had set me to looking at something else 
while she bought them, lest I should see them. 
After we were in the carriage she showed them 
to me, and was quite hurt when I said I did not 
think you would like to have me accept such 
expensive presents from anybody outside of the 
family.” 

“You were quite right, dear,” responded my 
cousin. 

There was a little puzzled plait between her 
eyebrows as she said it, and she looked thought- 
ful, as when I had brought the handkerchief 
home. I recalled this afterward. Just then, I 
was full of what had interested me far more than 
the lavish outlay of my companion’s money upon 
such trifles as silks, laces, smelling bottles, hand- 
kerchiefs, silk stockings, gloves, brooches, pencil 
cases, and rings. I had a new romance to share 
with my cousin. She and my father were among 
the few people in my small world who never called 
me “ odd ” and “ notional ” — meaning fanciful. 

I had barely begun the tale and found that she 
knew Miss Barbara Allen slightly and had heard 
something of her early disappointment, when 


Duped Again ! 


103 


dinner was announced. Visitors followed the 
meal, and it was twilight before I could get 
Cousin Molly Belle’s ear for ten minutes. At 
the end of that time, Cousin Frank, who had had 
a busy day down-town, came in, looking care- 
worn and weary, and I knew her first duty was 
to him. Then came supper and more calls. 

I stole quietly upstairs, for I was in a revery, 
but more light of heart than I had been since 
that fateful other Saturday and its cross of bitter 
herbs. Mary ’Liza had gone out to tea with one 
of the day scholars, and there was no one to 
intermeddle with my story weaving. Tired in 
body, I threw myself upon the bed, my crossed 
arms under my head, and wrapped myself in my 
fantasies as in the robe of invisibility I used 
to read of in fairy-tales. From the open taber- 
nacle glided my Mosaic Ideal, and sat down beside 
my “ couch,” and we held long and sweet con- 
verse together. I had no secrets from him, and 
he gave fullest sympathy in all. We went over 
the romance of the old lovers in detail. Barbara 
had sacrificed herself to secure the happiness of 
the man she loved, and to save her pretty young 


104 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


sister from heart-break. Hearts like Barbara’s 
did not break. They suffered and grew strong. 

I repeated softly, but audibly, to my Frederic 
(of whom I always thought without the 
final k ) : — 

“ Within my soul there is no light 
Save the pale light of stars ; 

I give the first watch of the night 
To the red planet Mars. 

t( O Star of Strength ! I see thee stand 
And smile upon my pain. 

Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand 
And I am strong again. 

“ Oh, fear not in a world like this. 

And thou shalt know ere long. 

Know how sublime a thing it is 
T o suffer and be strong ! ’ * 

Repetition of the words I knew so well was 
like the pressure of a cup of healing to my lips. 
I murmured them, over and over, and drew from 
them a martyr’s courage. 

“That,” said Frederic, in response, “should 
be the specific effect of suffering upon God’s 
children. Be sure whatever He appoints is 


Duped Again ! 1 05 

exactly adapted to their needs. He never 
blunders.” 

That was his style of speech. Is it any won- 
der that association with him disinclined me to 
listen to the rattle of the flesh-and-blood men 
my girl acquaintances found “ fascinating ” ? 
Among other debts of eternal gratitude I owe to 
Mr. Frederic Sedley is the fact that when mate- 
rial suitors came, in the days when the brook 
widened into the river, I held myself superior to 
flirtations and “ scrapes ” with which other girls 
amused themselves and tantalized admirers. Al- 
most every young woman in my set was engaged 
more than once — some were betrothed eight 
and ten times before they were safely married. 
It was a fashion in my day. After my Mosaic 
Model was relegated to Mythland, his influence 
remained with me ; he had made my ideals high 
and pure. The desire to prove myself worthy 
of them was antiseptic and sanitary. I would 
never give my hand unless love, warranted to 
wear for all time, went with it. 

But that, too, is another story. 

Cousin Molly Belle had a succession of visitors 


io6 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


that evening. She was a popular woman in 
Richmond, as she had been in her native county. 
The stream of merry talk, made musical by soft 
Southern voices and intonations, and the ripple 
of laughter, were a pleasing accompaniment to 
my musings. A summer shower had cleansed 
and cooled the air in the afternoon ; the breeze, 
stealing between the bowed shutters, was fragrant 
with the breath of garden flowers ; the mocking- 
bird across the way whistled softly bars from 

0 Summer Night . 

I had fallen asleep peacefully where I lay, my 
head upon my arms, an hour before Mary ’Liza 
came in to awaken me and to reprove me gently 
for tumbling my lawn dress by lying down in it. 

Sunday passed as usual, and I went to school 
on Monday morning with no premonition of new 
evil. Knots of girls were gathered about the 
desks, whispering furtively, or uncomfortably 
silent, as I made my way to the top of the large 
room where my place had been for a year past. 

1 thought nothing of the unlikeness of the scene 
to the usual merry tumult preceding lesson hours 
until the entrance of General and Mrs. Nunham 


Duped Again ! 


107 


with the four daughters in their train, and a cer- 
tain commingling of repressed emotion in their 
faces, and of expectation in those of the pupils, 
created an atmosphere I felt was foreign and 
ominous. The devotional exercises prefacing the 
business of the forenoon were held as usual, and, 
as usual, the classes that were to recite first, de- 
filed into the halls on their way to the recitation 
rooms. I was at the foot of the stairs leading 
to the music room on the second floor, when I 
recollected having left upon the piano last Friday 
a book I would need within an hour. I had 
raced to the top of the flight when I heard “ Miss 
Mary Burwell ! ” called from below. Miss Isa- 
bella was in such hot pursuit that she again 
reminded my incorrigible fancy of the cake of 
castile soap. She was quite out of breath, too, 
with climbing or excitement. 

cc May I ask whither you are going ? ” she de- 
manded, magisterial, although flustered. 

I explained. Instead of going back, she trod 
upon my heels as I entered the music room. 
The book was there just where I had left it. 
Julia Dorman was there, too, dressed for travel- 


io8 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


ling, except that she had no bonnet on. She was 
collecting her scattered music from the piano top 
and piling it neatly together. At sight of me she 
smiled, and came forward with outstretched hand. 

“Ah, Molly !” the mellow contralto as even 
and musical as ever. “ It is kind in you to come 
up to say c Good-by ! * to me ! ” 

“ Are you going away ? ” I blurted out, taken 
utterly aback by the intimation. 

She smiled — the slow, bland gleam that was 
one point of her unlikeness to the rest of us girls. 

“ Yes, my dear. I go to-day. I am sorry we 
are to have no more walks and rides together. I 
graduate in a couple of hours, now. Good-by ! ” 
I was too confounded to return the careless 
kiss she dropped upon my mouth. As she glided 
gracefully out of the room I stared after her with 
bewildered eyes. Miss Isabella had judged me 
unjustly once. She was not one to make another 
blunder along the same line. 

“ Sit down, Miss Burwell,” she ordered sternly, 
yet not harshly. “ I wish to talk with you for 
five minutes. You will then comprehend why I 
could not allow you to have any private commu- 


Duped Again ! 


109 


nication with Miss Dorman — why, whatever you 
have to say to her, or she to you, must be said in 
the presence of a third person.” 

After which startling preamble, she told me 
briefly, and in strong language, of the latest dis- 
grace in the highly respectable institution pre- 
sided over by her mother. 

I gladly make the story yet shorter. Julia 
Dorman — the stately, high-bred parlor boarder, 
who had added prestige to the aristocratic Nun- 
nery — was an adroit shoplifter and a clever 
thief. Nowadays, the woman who steals all she 
can carry away without detection, — steals when 
she has money enough to buy whatever she 
wants, and who gives away what she steals ; who 
is, moreover, subject to periodical and uncontrol- 
lable attacks of the aforesaid thievish propensity, 
— is a Kleptomaniac. Public opinion says there 
must be a motive for every violation of law. In 
the times of ignorance in which I had my first 
hard lessons in the fine art of living, this girl was 
adjudged to be a common felon. Her pilfering 
had been suspected for some time. For a month 
past she had been “ shadowed ” by a private de- 


no When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


tective. Last Saturday’s peculations had brought 
matters to a crisis. Major Peachy had been 
notified of certain discoveries. A special messen- 
ger was sent for her father on Sunday. He was 
expected hourly. Her trunks had been examined 
under Mrs. Nunham’s own eyes, and the revela- 
tion — as Miss Isabella phrased it — “ beggared 
belief.” She had stolen towels, collars, laces, 
trinkets, and “ miscellanies ” from every member 
of the household. The thefts had been attributed 
to the servants, poor little Munch suffering most 
severely in the estimation of the victims. 

I — credulous, conceited visionary that I was ! 
— had been her useful tool. But for the previous 
predatory expeditions that had fastened suspicion 
upon her, I, too, would have been marked and 
watched. As it was — maybe because I had, upon 
a former and a painfully recent occasion, proved 
so gullible — I was acquitted of all save egregious 
folly. 

This was what I sobbed out to Cousin Molly 
Belle, to whom I fled for shelter from the shower 
of ridicule I felt would descend upon me if I 
showed my face again in the schoolroom. Miss 


Duped Again ! 


1 1 1 


Isabella, moved almost to tears by the extremity 
of my humiliation, sent after me a note to my 
guardian full of regretful sympathy. When I 
could bear to read it, I learned that Cousin 
Frank's influence and his stainless reputation had 
been my most effective shield. 

Of this, I cannot trust myself to speak, — 
even now. 

I draw a veil over the valley of the shadow of 
disgrace in which I believed myself to be lying 
for the next ten days. I spent them in bed. I 
had slipped over the “ verge." 


Chapter VI 


Miss Barbara Allen 

“We grant, although he had much wit. 

He was very shy of using it. 

As being loath to wear it out. 

And therefore bore it not about.* * 

— Hudibras. 

Miss BARBARA ALLEN had called to see 
Cousin Molly Belle the very day of that lady’s 
return to town. From her my cousin heard that 
the articles charged, without his knowledge, to 
Major Peachy, were restored to the merchants 
from whom they were bought. For those sent 
to Mrs. Nunham’s and charged to that lady, 
payment had been made by the shoplifter’s 
friends. A number of valuables, chiefly laces and 


12 


Miss Barbara A lien 1 1 3 

jewellery, were not forthcoming. The klepto- 
maniac had secreted them about her person while 
in the store, and afterwards given or thrown them 
away, or otherwise disposed of them. All these 
were paid for, and the matter was hushed up so 
far as was practicable. 

Miss Allen’s method of crushing the cockatrice 
of gossip was thorough. She refused flatly to 
hear, or to speak one word of what she had deter- 
mined should go no farther. The snakes of 
scandal that got to her were killed summarily. 
There was no “ scotching.” She had one full, frank 
talk with the woman who hated tattling as heart- 
ily as herself, and that talk was as short as was 
compatible with a thorough understanding of the 
facts in the case. At her request, I was told that 
Julia Dorman was never under Major Peachy’s 
guardianship, although at the request of her father 
the Major had called to see her, and introduced 
her to Miss Allen. Julia had asked for the use 
of the carriage on that Saturday forenoon, alleging 
that she was not well enough to walk far in warm 
weather, and that she had a long country memo- 
randum to fill upon short notice. 


1 14 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


“ The most disgusting business I was ever 
mixed up in ! ” was Miss Barbara’s summing-up. 
“ And in nothing more villainous and detestably 
low than the finishing iniquity of dragging that 
innocent child of yours into it, as a blind. Say 
to her how sorry and ashamed I am, and ask her 
to show that she forgives Major Peachy and 
myself by letting us do something to make the 
rest of her stay in Richmond pleasant. I shall 
beg to be allowed to see her as soon as she can 
receive company. Make her understand that 
henceforward no allusion to this abominable affair 
will ever pass my lips.” 

She sent flowers, ice cream, jellies, or fruits to 
me daily while I kept my bed, and one fine morn- 
ing, unusually cool for mid-June, as I sat in an 
easy-chair by the front window, I saw the new 
carriage, the spruce coachman with iron-gray 
wool, and the prancing horses, shining like black 
haircloth sofas, stop at our gate. A tall lady 
alighted and walked briskly up the steps. A few 
minutes later, Cousin Molly Belle’s soft call from 
the lower hall prepared me for the long-expected 
visit. She would not come up in advance lest 


Miss Barbara Allen 


1 15 

the incident might take the form of an “ occa- 
sion.” 

“ Molly, dear ! ” she said. “ I am bringing 
Miss Allen up to see you. Do you hear ? ” 

My heart was in my throat, but I managed to 
speak distinctly : 

cc Yes, ma’am ! I shall be very glad to see her ! ” 

Which was what she and my mother, whom 
she represented just now, would have had me say. 
All the same, I put my hand to my throat to keep 
the throbbing, jumping organ in its place. 

The visitor entered breezily, but not boister- 
ously, talking all the way from the door to my 
window. 

<c Don’t get up, my child! Sit still! I’ll 
wager my head against a cymbling, Mrs. Mor- 
ton, that she is saying over to herself — 

'And they all said, “ Cruel Allen ! ” ’ 

Don’t try to deny it, lassie! Your eyes are too 
truthful ! ” 

I blushed up to the tell-tale eyes, but I 
laughed, too. 

“I couldn’t help thinking of the song,” I 
pleaded. 


1 1 6 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


“ Of course not ! Everybody who has heard it 
— and who hasn't ? — must think of it as soon as 
my name is spoken. I asked my mother once, 
why — when there are, as people say, fifteen hun- 
dred proper names, feminine gender, in different 
languages — she saddled a then sinless infant with 
one that would make her a perennial joke. She 
said she never thought of c Barbara Allen’s 
Cruelty ! ’ Her mother’s Christian name was 
Barbara, and my father’s surname was Allen. She 
tacked one to the other. It was a sum in simple 
addition. Result — here am I ! ” 

“ I am very glad you are ! ” said I, invol- 
untarily, letting my hand lie confidingly in that 
which had taken it in a cordial grasp as kind as a 
woman’s, as firm as a man’s. 

She gave it a little menacing shake. 

“ You can’t flatter me, little woman ! Flattery 
of my time-battered self is like firing at a horse- 
block with a pea-shooter.” 

“ But I really thought it ! ” I hastened to 
assert. “ And ” — coloring again — cc it slipped 
out before I knew ! ” 

“ That is really worth having ! Now, what 1 


Miss Barbara Allen 


1 17 

am thinking is how long it will take you to clap 
a bonnet on your head — never mind about 
gloves ! — and get into the carriage that’s waiting 
for you at the door. For I am going to take you 
for an airing. Yes ! you are strong enough, and 
it will make you stronger every time the wheels 
go round. I met your doctor on my way 
here, and he endorses my prescription. I should 
have come all the same if he hadn’t. I’d like 
to see Bob Haxall laying down the law to me 
who have known him ever since he was in 
roundabouts ! ” 

Not until I was packed away between pillows 
on the back seat of the carriage, Miss Barbara 
sitting opposite, had I a chance to scrutinize her. 
Introduction, proposition, and abduction had 
been the work of five minutes. 

She wore her own curling gray hair, looped 
from the temples below the ears. Most elderly 
Southern ladies at that date covered graying locks 
with false “ fronts ” and frizettes. 

Miss Allen carried herself nobly, seated bolt 
upright in the middle of the cushions, disdaining 
to loll, or to accept the support of any back except 


1 1 8 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


her own. Her forehead was broad ; her eyes 
were dark gray, well opened, and expressive, her 
mouth was somewhat large, with spirited, mobile 
curves. Her teeth were her own, and perfect. 
The face was strong and intelligent. I had ex- 
pected to see a beautiful woman, or one whose 
remnant of beauty bore out the tradition of the 
diplomatic Frenchman's compliment. She was 
thin to gauntness, and the high cheek-bones were 
a suggestion of Scotch ancestry. 

Yet she charmed me from the first. Then and 
always, she drew out what was worthiest in my 
mind and heart. The eccentric intimacy between 
us, dating from that hour and springing from the 
odious episode which brought us together, was 
like the growth of a healthy flower, sw r eet and 
vigorous, from rotting ooze. 

Our drive was but half an hour long. She “did 
not want to tire me.” To-morrow, if I were as 
much stronger as she hoped to see me, we would 
go for an hour, and then she would beg Mrs. 
Morton to lend me to her for a day or two. 
Change of air — even to another part of the city 
— would do more for me than all the apothe- 


Miss Barbara Allen 


119 

caries and doctors in town. Apothecaries and 
doctors went as naturally together as bottle and 
cork. Neither was worth a fig without the other. 
Fresh air and fresh company, fresh eggs, fresh 
milk, and fresh fruit were her King-Cure-All. 

I had promised Cousin Molly Belle and my- 
self to think as little as possible of that former 
drive in this same vehicle, and I was relieved that, 
instead of going in the direction we had taken 
last week, we drove down Main Street, and then, 
by devious ways, made necessary by the imper- 
fect grading of that day, climbed to the summit 
of the hill, around by <c old St. John's.” In the 
open fields outlying church and surrounding 
dwellings, Miss Barbara ordered the coachman to 
stop that I might enjoy the view. 

While I took in gratefully the picturesque 
effects of broad river, green fields, and swelling 
hills encompassing the fair city in a loving em- 
brace, my hostess told me how this was once the 
Court end of town, the most fashionable, as it 
must always be the most beautiful. 

“ What made the change ? ” I asked regretfully. 
<c The devil and his followers know, child ! 


120 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


Somebody whose name is forgotten, as it ought 
to be, started the race for Shockoe Hill, and it 
was like the pell-mell run of the swine down a 
steep place — with the difference between down 
and up. Don't ask me where this race will stop. 
I shouldn't be surprised to see Fashion straddling 
Bacon's Quarter Branch.” 

I bethought myself of the phrase last week in 
driving far past the Branch without leaving curb- 
stones and pavements behind us. 

“ Yet you live on Shockoe Hill ? '' I ventured. 

Positive as her utterances were, she never 
intimidated me. 

“ Yes ! for my sins, which are many ! On 
Franklin Street, in the house where I was born, 
and in which, please God ! I'll die. When my 
father built it, it stood in the middle of a grove, 
with fields all around it. For me to leave it now 
would be like a tairrapen ” (terrapin) cc shedding 
his shell.” 

She took me into the “ shell ” two days later 
in the week. Her house was as odd and as inter- 
esting as the owner. The bricks were embrowned 
by age, and gray in patches. With rare good 


Miss Barbara Allen 


I 2 I 


taste she would not have them made smart with 
paint. The spread of the hoary patches was to 
her a genuine satisfaction. 

“We are growing gray together/' she would 
say. 

The surrounding garden was spacious. Tea 
was served in an arbor on the day of my arrival. 
In a veritable arbor, ten feet square in the clear, 
with a white gravel floor, and walled and roofed 
with honeysuckles and multiflora roses. A rug 
was spread over the gravel, and a colored “ dining- 
room servant," his head peppered and salted like 
the carriage driver's, brought out a table and set it 
upon the rug. Then he, and his subordinates — 
a half-grown boy and a woman — laid the cloth, 
and set all manner of Old Virginia dainties in 
gracious order upon it. 

I watched them with keen interest from my 
seat on the window-bench in the back parlor. It 
was like the good old times to be keen about any- 
thing again. The garden was a study in itself. 
Box borders crisscrossed it up and down, and 
from right to left. They were solid green walls, 
four feet high, and squared on top like a stone 


122 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


coping, such was the perfection of the pruning, 
and the solstitial sun had soaked to their hearts. 
In cooling, they threw off aromatic sighs. I 
inhaled the warm perfume ecstatically. 

“ I never understood until now how one might 
c die of a rose in aromatic pain * ! ” I ejaculated. 

Miss Barbara never remarked upon the book- 
ish talk ridiculed by the schoolgirls when 1 let 
myself backslide into it. Taking it as a natural 
mode of expression, she humored it by kindly 
interest. 

“ Those old poets knew pretty well what they 
were talking about,” she answered, now. “ Peo- 
ple learned them by heart when I was young. 
I could repeat the whole of Pope’s Messiah 
before I was fourteen, and I devoured Thom- 
son’s Seasons on the sly, under the impression 
that it was light reading, and therefore not to be 
dipped into by children. When I found that it 
wasn’t stolen waters after all, the sweetness stayed 
by me.” 

“Just as I did with Rollin’s Ancient His- 
tory ! ” said I, eagerly. 

As eagerly I rushed into the account of how I 


Miss Barbara Allen 


123 


had abstracted one volume at a time from the top 
shelf of the bookcase at home, and read it on the 
back porch out of lesson hours, thinking my 
father might disapprove, and not daring to tell 
anybody of my secret study until he surprised me 
one day poring over the eighth volume. 

“ You see” — my eyes wandering out of the 
window, my thoughts upon what I was saying 
— “ he came up behind me so quietly I didn’t 
hear him. Something made me look up, and 
there were his eyes looking right down into 
mine. There was nothing for it but to face 
the music, and I said, ‘Father! is this light 
reading ? ’ How he laughed ! c Hardly, my 
daughter,’ said he. c I should call it pretty 
deep subsoil ploughing — 

I checked myself as if struck by a shot. Miss 
Barbara had been strolling up and down the 
room, her hands behind her, in a way peculiar 
to herself, listening encouragingly to my narra- 
tive, putting in an interjection here and there 
that helped me along. Between two words, as 
it were, I became conscious of a change in the 
spiritual atmosphere. There was a third presence 


124 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


in the room. I felt that there was a difference 
in Miss Barbara’s mental attitude. Her atten- 
tion was divided. The current of magnetic sym- 
pathy was broken. In the sensitiveness of my 
nervous system induced by recent illness, I was, 
doubtless, more susceptible to such subtle influ- 
ences than a normally sound girl would have 
been. Certain it is that an electric thrill brought 
me to my feet and turned me toward the door. 
A man stood on the threshold. That he had 
been there long enough to hear some part of 
my monologue was apparent from Miss Barbara’s 
greeting : — 

“ Good evening ! Come in and be introduced 
to the young lady who has told her story so 
well ! Miss Molly Burwell ! this is my brother- 
in-law, Maj’ Peachy ! She doesn’t like to be 
called c Mary,’ and, indeed, c Molly ’ suits her 
much better.” 

Her manner of slurring over the last syllable 
of his title struck me forcibly at once. It was 
a way married women had of naming their hus- 
bands. Our physician’s wife always spoke of 
her spouse as cc Doct’ Skelton ” ; my own mother 


Miss Barbara Allen 


125 


ran “ Mister ” and “ Burwell ” into a composite 
proper noun. 

This impression was born in the hundredth 
part of a second, but it never left me. The trick 
of speech was significant, and of but one thing. 
She might say, “ My brother-in-law.” Elision 
and intonation betrayed her. 

The Major bowed solemnly, his hand upon 
his heart, as was the wont of gentlemen of the 
Old School. I courtesied timidly. He said, 
“ Happy to make your acquaintance ! ” politely 
and listlessly. I replied, “ Thank you,” con- 
fusedly, and sat down again. 

Another disillusion ! Of late they were the 
warp and the woof of my life. 

Mr. Frederic Sedley and I had mated this 
fine elderly gentlewoman, instinct with vitality 
to the tips of her taper fingers, with a courtly 
knight, stalwart as Hercules, handsome as Robert 
Devereux, Earl of Essex, a Bayard in gallant 
grace, a Dunallan in piety and manly tenderness. 

What I saw was a man not an inch taller than 
Miss Barbara, as they stood side by side. In 
his athletic youth he may have overtopped her 


126 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


by three inches. He had settled down on his 
lees, that is, upon the cartilaginous pads separat- 
ing the joints of the vertebrae, and shortened in 
stature. She had kept herself up, physically 
and mentally. He stooped slightly, thus dimin- 
ishing his height still more; his chest was con- 
cave ; his voice was husky ; he was spare of 
frame ; solicitous wisps of hair, brushed perpen- 
dicularly to their trysting-place on the exact top 
of his head, called attention to the bald area there, 
instead of masking it; he had a Roman nose; dark 
eyes shone dully in deep hollows under shaggy 
eyebrows, and I was morally certain his white 
teeth were not his, except by right of purchase. 

The impression made upon me then, and which 
was strengthened by subsequent acquaintanceship, 
was of a man who was chronically fatigued. True, 
he remained standing until Miss Barbara sat 
down, before subsiding, like a spent wave, into 
an arm-chair set near the window. I knew by 
intuition that it was put there for him, and that 
he occupied it whenever he came to the house. 

“ Have you had a very busy day ? ” inquired 
his sister-in-law, with unfeigned interest. 


Miss Barbara Allen 


127 


“Very much so, and the weather is depress- 
ing” 

“June is a trying month,” responded Miss 
Barbara. <c Dr. Haxall tells me that more Rich- 
mond children die in June than in any other 
six months in the year. And men are but 
children of a larger growth, you know, Molly. 
June tells upon us all.” 

“ July is hotter ! ” was my banal answer. 

“ Yes, but less sultry. Ready, Antony ? ” as 
the butler bowed in the doorway. “We are to 
have supper in the summer-house, Maj\ There 
will be no danger of taking cold, will there ? ” 

The Major pulled himself erect with the help 
of the arms of his big chair. 

“Not unless the ground is damp.” 

The husky monotone was dissonant after her 
heartsome accents» 

“ You think of everything ! ” — admiringly. 
“ Antony has laid a thick rug over the ground. 
No! no!” He had offered his arm to her. 
“ Take Miss Molly. She is our invalid.” 

I resented the epithet in my hot, young heart, 
as my fingers took account of the sharp bones 


128 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


within his coat-sleeve. I might be thin. I was 
not scrawny ! The men with whom I had walked 
arm-in-arm heretofore — my father, my cousins, 
young and old, our county neighbors — had 
brawn — muscles almost as hard as the bones 
they covered. I shrank in actual repulsion from 
the skeleton member that assumed to “ support ” 
me. My spinal column stiffened ; my step be- 
came elastic at the implication. 

Seated at the table in the summer-house, An- 
tony standing behind the Major’s chair, and his 
son behind the hostess, we bowed reverent heads 
while the Major mumbled a grace. 

“ He can’t speak up like a man, even to God ! ” 
commented I, mentally. 

I ought not to have been disgusted or surprised 
at the further discovery that he was a dyspeptic, 
but I was, and with a superadded sense that an 
imputation was cast by the discovery upon my 
newly regained appetite — the hunger of youth 
and of convalescence. I partook zestfully of 
Smithfield ham, cut from a young pig fattened 
upon peanuts — a dream in tenderness and flavor, 
carved by Antony into translucent shavings, curl- 



“Seated at the table in the summer-house.” 



Miss Barbara Allen 


129 


ing before the blade like rose leaves, and fairly 
melting upon the ravished tongue. I did not 
refuse cold duckling and hot “ batter-bread ” — 
another miracle of culinary skill unknown in 
higher latitudes — or beaten biscuits and peach 
mangoes. Chicken salad found favor in my eyes, 
and sponge cake, and red raspberries and cream. 
I washed all down with iced milk, and felt the 
better for every mouthful. There was waste to 
be repaired, and material for strength and growth 
to be provided. 

The birds were chirping their vespers in the 
rose jungles which were masses of bloom ; be- 
lated bees shook the honeysuckle bells, humming 
happily over their suppers ; once, a dissipated 
humming-bird darted in at the door of the 
arbor, circled about a dish of honey on the table, 
and was off again before we could exclaim ; the 
West was all aglow, and in the deepening calm 
of evening we could hear the River singing her 
favorite child to sleep. 

Again I said to my recuperating self how good 
it was to be alive — especially good there — and 
thus! I could have cried in sheer ecstasy. 


130 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


While I revelled, and Miss Barbara’s crisp, 
kindly talk kept the feast from being a mere 
“ feed,” the Major crunched dry toast, ate a 
boiled egg with a deliberate spoon, and sipped 
the most attenuated tea that ever disgraced the 
reputation of the Celestial herb. When he said 
anything, his talk matched the tea. But he 
rarely spoke except in reply to a direct question 
from Miss Barbara. As a confirmed dyspeptic, 
it was his bounden duty to masticate thoroughly, 
and not to jar the digestive apparatus by mental 
excitement. 

The strangest part of a performance which was 
full of novelty to me was Miss Barbara’s be- 
havior to her brother-in-law and whilom lover ; 
her watchfulness of his every movement, her 
open enjoyment of his society (save the mark!), 
and her utter unconsciousness of what — as the 
French have it- — jumped at the eyes for me in 
less than three minutes after I was introduced to 
him — to wit, that the man was a £C stick ” ! 
No other word fitted him so well. A bit of 
human driftwood, sapless to the heart, and 
comely to nobody except to the one faithful 


Miss Barbara Allen 131 

worshipper who would always behold in him 
the Has-been she learned to love in the hey- 
day of life. 

As may be supposed, I did not find all this 
out that first evening. But I felt it with the 
spiritual antennae that serve women in the place 
of logical deduction. It puzzled me to distrac- 
tion. When I went to my room at my early 
bed-time, we — for Miss Barbara insisted upon 
going up “ to see that I was comfortable ” — 
left the Major lying back in his big chair by the 
back-parlor window that opened upon the beauti- 
ful old garden, pipe in mouth, — the picture of in- 
dolent ease. He arose to say “Good night, Miss 
Burwell ! ” as I courtesied in passing, a skinny 
hand tugging at the arm of the chair to aid the 
stiff knee-joints. Looking back from the stair- 
case, I saw him relapse into the old attitude. 

The woman I had seen in the garden with 
Antony was in waiting with my lighted candle in 
the upper hall. Miss Barbara took it from her. 

“ You may go to my room, Cleo, and wait 
until I call you,” she said. “When Miss Molly 
is ready to be undressed, I will let you know.” 


132 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


I should need no help, and so I assured her. 
I have always had an un-English aversion to 
the handling of a strange maid. 

“ Cleo ! ” I repeated, when she was out 
of hearing. cc Does that mean the Muse of 
History ? ” 

“ It stands for Cleopatra, the Queen of 
Egypt,” returned Miss Barbara, gayly, cc and goes 
with Antony. Their son is ‘Augustus/ Maj’ 
Peachy named him. The marriage of Antony 
and Cleopatra was, in his opinion, the righting 
of a great historical wrong. He has a lively 
appreciation of the humorous side of any ques- 
tion, and this marriage appealed to it. Are you 
sure you would not like to have her Majesty get 
you ready for bed ? She is very quick and 
willing, and light on her feet, as the saying goes. 
Maj’ Peachy quotes, — ‘ I saw her once hop forty 
paces in the public street/ when he sees her 
flying about the yard and garden. Here is a 
glass of milk and a beaten biscuit, should you 
be hungry, and I will put this bell on the stand 
by your bed. My room is next to yours, and 
I am a light sleeper. Should you be wakeful, or 


Miss Barbara Allen 


133 


uncomfortable in any way, don’t be afraid to ring. 
Good night ! ” 

As she kissed my forehead — an unusual dem- 
onstration for her — I clasped my arms about 
her neck, in an irresistible paroxysm of gratitude. 

“ Bear Miss Barbara ! I don’t see why you 
are so good to me ! I can’t help loving you, 
and telling you how grateful I am!” 

She returned the embrace with unexpected 
fervor, holding me close to her, and laying her 
cheek to my hair. I felt her breast heave ir- 
regularly, as if with restrained emotion, but her 
voice was clear and merry : — 

“ Don’t try to help it — please ! It isn’t 
every day that an old lady hears such a pretty 
confession from a young girl. I shall sleep the 
more sweetly for it. Good night, again ! ” 

After undressing, I was too restless for bed. 
Instead, I extinguished the light, and, in my old 
fashion, curled myself up in the window-seat 
to look at the stars and to let Mr. Frederic 
Sedley out of the tabernacle. While I confided 
to him my disappointment and the puzzle that 
was a positive pain, I could hear the murmur of 


134 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


voices downstairs. Whiffs from Major Peachy’s 
pipe floated through his window up to mine, 
alternately with the breath of the white jessamine 
clambering over the back of the house. Miss 
Barbara did most of the talking. Now and then, 
she laughed out like a girl, doubtless at some 
fresh evidence of the Major’s sense of humor. 
My lip curled: — 

“ The idea of his seeing fun in anything ! 
And I don’t begin to believe he ever read Shake- 
speare, much less quoted it ! She said it herself, 
and he grunted, c Quite so ! ’ just as he did three 
times while we were at supper.” 

An old rhyme popped into my head. I was 
startled at the appositeness of the doggerel : — 

** There was a lady loved a swine. 

‘ Honey ! * said she, 

‘ Pig-hog ! wilt thou be mine ? * 

* Hunc ! * said he.” 

I blushed in the darkness with compunction 
that I could make the application in Miss 
Barbara’s house, with her kiss warm upon my 
forehead. 

“ It was all the Major’s fault ! ” I retorted 


Miss Barbara Allen 


*35 


petulantly to Frederic's gentle rebuke. All her 
bright sayings, the gay good humor and clever- 
ness that made her a favorite in her large coterie 
of friends, were so many pearls of great price 
wasted upon him — for how many years ? 

Cousin Molly Belle told me that he had 
visited regularly nowhere else since his wife died. 
Julia Dorman said he spent every evening with 
Miss Barbara. He had his bachelor apart- 
ments at the Virginia House overlooking the 
Capitol Square. His real home was under this 
old roof, in the rooms where he had wooed both 
of the sisters, and wedded one. 

In time, when I had studied life's problems 
with a more humble and teachable spirit, I under- 
stood, in a degree at least, what irked me unrea- 
sonably in my window-bench cogitations. I have 
not lived over threescore years without seeing 
other women — and not a few — besides this 
great-hearted creature, waste, or so it seemed to 
others, their best years and choicest gifts of heart 
and intellect in serving tables in the temples of 
idols so ignoble that the world cried out upon the 
profanation. 


136 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


With all her strong, shrewd sense, Miss 
Barbara had her ideals. She had merged the 
fairest of these in the real personality of one man. 
He was handsome, blithe, and gallant in the sea- 
son of youth and love. She had carried forward 
in her deathless youth the glamour of that 
blessed time. When the desire of the recreant 
lover’s eyes was taken away from him at a stroke, 
and he turned to Barbara for consolation, she 
became his stay and comfort as whole-souledly 
as she had plighted her troth to him when both 
were free. The sorrow he could not live down 
was but another virtue in the eyes of her who 
had been as a mother to his beautiful wife. If 
she had idealized him in the early flush of her 
love, she glorified him now. 

I hope I am not tedious in my attempt to make 
of a paradox a rational conclusion, to prove an 
anomaly natural and reasonable. I know no other 
way of accomplishing this than by setting truths 
side by side, and working upward from the axiom 
that fact never contradicts fact. 

As I have said, I gathered little of this that 
night, and that in vague shadowings of what I 


Miss Barbara Allen 


137 


was neither wise enough nor old enough to grasp 
in its entirety. I was in a bad humor, and too 
rebellious at circumstances which had thrown my 
dream out of joint, to be clear sighted or judicial. 

While I sat hunched together in the window- 
seat, my arms clasping my knees, and my head 
bent upon them, Miss Barbara went to the piano 
and began to play. Cousin Molly Belle had 
told me, as a notable exception to the practice 
of most elderly women, how Miss Allen had 
kept up her music. I divined, in an instant, as 
the swift fingers swept the keys, that she had 
“ kept it up ” for the sake of this — “ dyspeptic 
atomy ! ” 

I spat it out angrily, ran across the room, 
tumbled into bed, and, despite the heat of the 
June night, covered my head with a pillow to 
muffle the waltzes and marches and sonatas 
played for the honored guest while he lay back 
in his elbow-chair and smoked the pipe of 
indolence. 



Chapter VII 

1 make a Holocaust 

“Beat all your feathers as flat down as pancakes ! ” 

—Old Play. 

“My daughter ! how uncomfortable you look ! ” 
I started up, nervously, at my mother’s voice, 
and huddled my papers into an open portfolio. 

In reality I was exceedingly comfortable. An 
August storm was howling outside of my gabled 
room ; sheets of rain blurred the panes of the 
dormer-window in which my desk was recessed. 
Ever since I was old enough to notice whether 
the weather were fair or foul, the foulest has been 
the fairest in my estimation. My spirits mount 
as the barometer falls. This was the second day 
of fierce tempest, a mad, sweeping rain that kept 
man and beast under shelter. Soon after break- 
138 


I make a Holocaust 


139 


fast I had escaped from the party of guests of 
assorted ages downstairs and settled myself for 
the enjoyment of a forenoon after my own 
taste. 

The windows had been opened while the beds 
were in making, and the air was bleak. I tied a 
knotted worsted shawl over my shoulders, knot- 
ting it behind ; drew a pair of woollen bedside 
slippers over my feet which always got cold while 
I was writing ; unclasped a baggy portfolio, my 
sole confidante in the stolen joys of rainy weather 
orgies with the muses, and forthwith, “ the world 
forgetting,” was “ by the world forgot.” 

Except by my mother. At twelve o’clock I 
was still an absentee from the family circle and 
she came to look me up. Gravity was in every 
lineament; disapproval in eye and voice. One 
glance took in the details of my costume and 
environment. 

Mary ’Liza and I shared the room between us. 
A blind man would have known by instinct 
which side was mine and which hers. Our beds 
were precisely alike. The same maid took care 
of them. We had bureaux of the same size and 


140 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


pattern. Mary ’Liza’s mirror was tipped at the 
correct angle ; her pincushion was in the exact 
middle of the marble slab under the glass ; on 
one side of it were a cologne bottle and a gilt 
vase. On the other side her Bible, Village 
Hymns , and a red morocco copy of Daily Food 
were piled primly, the Bible, as the largest book, 
at the bottom, Daily Food on top. The rest of 
her portable and personal property was put away 
out of sight in the bureau drawers, and in her half 
of our roomy clothes-press. 

I had no cologne bottle and no vase. A hang- 
bird’s nest swung above the mirror which canted 
crazily as I had tilted it to see if my frock were 
too short. I was stretching out of all my clothes. 
A riding-whip, a present from Cousin Frank 
Morton, dangled jauntily from one of the up- 
rights that held the looking-glass ; a neck-ribbon 
from the other. Mary ’Liza kept her brush and 
comb in one of the short top-drawers. I wanted 
to have mine where I could snatch them up 
without loss of time. Therefore, they were in 
conspicuous evidence atop of the books and 
magazines which filled every inch of available 


I make a Holocaust 


141 

space on the bureau. Mary ’Liza’s books were 
stacked symmetrically at the far side of a writing- 
table under the window in her territory. I had 
not room for books upon my desk in the dormer. 
My turgid portfolio, my stone inkstand, — a pon- 
derous affair that held a pint ; penwipers, sand- 
box, two wooden scrap-boxes with lids lettered 
respectively, “ Victoria Spool Thread ,” and “ Toilet 
Soap” gave little liberty for elbow-play. 

My mother’s eyes returned to me, and mine 
fell guiltily. I stood convicted of disorderly 
habits and wasted time. 

“ Sit down, Molly ! ” said my mentor, mild 
with all her firmness. “ It grieves me to be 
obliged to find fault with you, as if you were still 
a little girl and not almost a young lady. But 
you are forming habits now for a lifetime, and I 
am responsible for them while you are under age. 
Have you ever asked yourself if it is not selfish 
and impolite for you to sit up here, writing and 
reading half the day while there is company in 
the house to be entertained ? You owe some- 
thing to society and to your family. Already 
people begin to speak of you as c unsociable,’ and 


142 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


c conceited,’ and c a blue stocking.’ If you could 
live all your life in your ideal world, there might 
be some propriety in cultivating the habit of 
learned seclusion. As a sensible, God-fearing 
girl, who has to do her part in a commonplace 
home, you owe a duty to those with whom you 
associate. It would break my heart to see you 
grow up into a literary woman, daughter — a 
precieuse ridicule ! ” 

Her voice shook, and the moisture glistened 
in the dear eyes. My heart swelled in seeing 
these. 

“ I don’t mean to be selfish, mother,” I fal- 
tered, “ and there are so many people downstairs 
they don’t need me.” 

“ How do you know that, my dear ? They 
are your old playfellows and my friends, and 
must have some things in common with even so 
studious a young lady as yourself.” 

The slight suspicion of sarcasm in her accent 
put me on my mettle. 

“ How do I know, mother ? Because I bore 
them and they bore me ! When the Pemberton girls 
and Paulina Hobson are not talking about beaux 


/ make a Holocaust 


M3 


and clothes and other people’s business, they are 
comparing notes over this and that crochet stitch. 
If you knew how I hate the sight of a crochet- 
needle and the everlasting balls of cotton and 
yarn, you wouldn’t blame me for liking to get off 
by myself with a book, now and then ! ” 

“Suppose Mary ’Liza and myself felt in the 
same way, and acted as we felt ? ” She was a 
gentle soul, but had convictions and the courage 
born of them. “ A very good rule for daily 
living is not to do that which would break up the 
foundations of society and make home miserable 
if everybody did it ! ” 

She had struck straight. I sat silent, my hands 
in my lap, my head drooping. Each of the five 
smooth stones from the brook of Common Sense 
had hit the mark. 

I made one futile stir of protest : — ■ 

“ If everybody did nothing but crochet tidies 
and work lamp-mats and knit shawls and hoods 
— what then ? ” 

“ I did not say that you should do nothing 
but try to make your father’s house pleasant for 
the family, and for our visitors, Molly. Every 


144 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


duty has its place and time. And a woman's 
first duty — next to that she owes to God, of 
course — is to her family and to her home. I 
am afraid that you, my dear little girl, are in 
imminent danger of forgetting this. Education 
should enlarge, not narrow the sympathies. Ec- 
centricity is a sign of weakness somewhere. 
Those who plume themselves upon being un- 
like those about them could usually learn much 
from those they despise. It takes a high order 
of common sense to render one willing to seem 
commonplace rather than make commonplace 
people uncomfortable. 

“ I didn't come up here to lecture the dear 
daughter who is learning much more from books 
and teachers than her mother ever had the op- 
portunity of getting. But out of the abundance 
of the heart the mouth speaketh, you know, 
and a mother's heart is all the time full to over- 
flowing. I am afraid you will take cold this 
damp day, writing here. This room is on the 
north side of the house, and the high wind finds 
its way in. You had better call Marthy to 
make a fire for you. That is " — and this with- 


1 make a Holocaust 


145 


out a touch of irony — “ unless you will enliven 
our circle downstairs by joining us ? ” 

“ I’ll be down presently/' I said dully. 

She knew me too well to seem to notice 
tone or downcast looks. 

“ This is a snug corner ! ” she observed, ris- 
ing, and glancing about her. “ I don’t wonder 
you find it a temptation.” And, looking out 
of the window, “ I really believe it is storming 
harder than ever ! Be sure to have a fire made 
if you stay here.” 

I held my head up until the sound of her 
steps died away on the stairs. Then I laid it 
down upon the bulging portfolio and cried — 
I was about to say, “ like a baby,” but such a 
wash of passionate brine would drown out a 
baby’s life. My heart emptied itself into the 
channel of that outbreak. 

The first words I could form betrayed the 
spring of grief : — 

“ I might have known I was too happy to be 
left alone ! It could not last ! ” 

July, the first month of my vacation, was in 
the retrospect, a chiaro-oscuro of much sleeping 


146 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


and little else. I was growing fast ; the school 
term had taxed my mental forces severely, and 
the nervous collapse of May and June left traces 
that were not gone by July. By Dr. Haxall’s 
advice, privately conveyed to my parents through 
the Mortons, I was suffered to sleep as many 
hours of the twenty-four as pleased me, and to 
“ laze ” while I seemed awake. I cared little 
for walking, less for riding, and, apparently, 
nothing for books. Intellect lay fallow ; physi- 
cal recuperation was slow. By the first of August 
I shook myself free of lethargy and bounded 
into the arena of active existence, refreshed by 
the new wine of Nature’s choicest vintage. The 
blessed Old Mother had made me over while 
I lay, sleeping and waking, in her arms. I laid 
hold of life with both hands and with all my 
heart. Full-fledged, with the dew of its youth 
upon it, a scheme, cherished fondly for several 
months, the fulfilment of which had been post- 
poned for lack of time, came to the front. 

I would write a Book ! The sixth chapter, 
half-finished, lay before me, when my mother’s 
voice recalled me to the actual scene and season. 


/ make a Holocaust 


147 


I was writing a story of real life — the life I, 
or any other flesh-and-blood Virginia girl, might 
lead. I would take counsel with no one as to 
characters and plot, and accept no model in 
style and treatment. My brain-child should be 
all mine own. Of course — and herein was 
sweetness beyond compare — Mr. Frederic 
Sedley was to be the hero. 

My tears were literally dripping from the 
leather back of the fat portfolio as I opened it, 
and took thence the unfinished chapter, re-read 
it, as one lingers in looking his last upon the 
beloved dead, and laid it by with those which 
had preceded it, in decent, mournful order. 
Next, one by one, I extracted from the bowels 
of the big portfolio sketches in prose ; fragments 
of verse ; finished and polished-off poems — 
each thought of my thought, heart of my heart. 
Even in the sincerity of my sorrow — and I 
have known none more real — a quotation arose 
to my lips and passed them : — 

“ Dear as the ruddy drops 
That visit this sad heart ! ” 

How sad, I cannot let myself say after the 


148 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


lapse of half a century. How torn and racked 
the smiling reader would not believe. 

No human eye save mine had read sketch or 
verse. I shrank from confiding the fact of their 
existence to my closest intimate. Dread of the 
obloquy of which my mother had spoken as 
attached to the literary woman may have entered 
into my excessive shyness and the absolute terror 
with which I contemplated the possibility of 
discovery. Until my darling scheme of author- 
ship was fully ripe, the secret should remain 
with me. I like to recollect that my intention 
throughout was to tell my father, first, of my 
ambition and what I had done to prove it. I 
had named my story Alone . In the fulness 
of times and seasons, if God would mercifully 
grant to my labor and desire this crowning 
glory, I would go to him with the completed 
manuscript in my hand and say : — 

“ Father! I have written a book! I hope 
it is good enough to publish. May I read it 
to you, and let you judge whether it is or not? ” 
In the fulness of God’s time and way, the 
dream and the longing blossomed into fruition. 


I make a Holocaust 


149 


But (again and yet again !) that is another 
story ! 

I am living over now that August noon, 
gloomy with clouds and boisterous with gusty 
rain, when a slip of a girl, chilled to the bone, 
and heartsick almost unto death, made ready 
her papers for the burning. I read each — and 
there were scores of them — rapidly, but none 
the less lovingly. At last but one lay on my 
right, and the pile on the left was as high as my 
shoulders as I sat. It was a sheet of common 
copy-book paper, — creased and yellow. 

In unfolding it I laughed mirthlessly. Then 
I could hardly see the pencilled lines for tears. 
“ An Ode ” was written at the top of the page 
in the “ coarse-hand ” script of an eight-year-old 
child. What had happened to me yesterday 
was not more distinct in my memory than the 
circumstances under which I penned my very 
first “ poem.” 

A tall, lush plant, known as “The Bride,” 
bearing queer, scentless, green-and-white blos- 
soms, grew in my mother’s flower borders. A 
child broke off a spray, and, seeing a milkv sap 


150 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


exuding from the stem, rubbed it upon the back 
of his hand. Next day, the hand was covered 
with an eruption resembling measles. 

That afternoon, in passing, I saw the whole 
clump drooping to the roots, as if smitten by 
a deadly blight. Inspiration gat hold of me. 
Something awoke in my brain and ran like fire 
through my veins. When called to supper I 
could not eat. As soon as I could get away 
from the table I was back in the garden, pacing 
the paths with burning cheeks and clay-cold 
hands, ever returning to the blighted plant, now 
ghostly in the twilight ; rhymes forming them- 
selves in my head through no volition of mine. 
At midnight I stole out of bed, struck a light, 
carried it down into the dining room lest my 
cousin should awake, cleared off a corner of the 
table laid for breakfast, and — a comical little 
figure in nightgown and cap — scratched down 
the rough draught of the “ Ode.” Beneath this 
title was scrawled : — 

“ Addressed to a plant called c The Bride / which 
was found dying shortly after it was discovered to 
be Poisonous .” 


/ make a Holocaust 


I 5 I 

The first declaration of affection, the first kiss 
of love, or the first tall silk hat may be forgotten 
by woman or by man. The poet — would-be, 
or real — never loses the exact memory of his 
first-born poem ; or the author the recollection 
of how his written words looked in print at his 
first reading of them. A half-century and more 
have passed since my eyes rested upon that 
dingy sheet covered with sprawling pencillings. 
I can repeat, verbatim , my earliest effort at 
rhyme and measure. That is a misuse of the 
word “ effort.” The travail of composition was 
spontaneous, and a rapture, rather than an agony. 
But to the lines : — 

“ Alack, my pretty, graceful Bride ! 

Why dost thou hang thy pretty head ? 

Is’t because of poisonous fumes 
Which round thee thou hast shed ? 

Alack, my pretty, dainty Bride ! 

Well may’ st thou hang thy pretty head. 

To-morrow morn when I come here 
I shall find thee drooping — dead ! ” 

It is almost superfluous to add that I had 
committed to memory, at my mothers suggestion 


152 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


and from her well-worn copy of her favorite poet, 
Cowper’s — 

“ The rose that was washed — newly washed by the shower 
Which Mary to Anna conveyed. 

The plentiful moisture encumbered the flower 
And weighed down its beautiful head. ,, 

My maiden Ode was unconsciously founded 
upon that famous morceau of wishy-washy verse. 
Obedient to my exemplar, I esteemed it a 
necessity and a solemn obligation to affix a 
moral to my rhyme. What Cowper and iEsop 
did, and tutors and governors approved, must 
be right. It soothes my self-respect to reflect 
that this same moral — the tail to my soaring 
kite — was the one section of the production that 
“ came hard.” I hammered it out conscien- 
tiously, and did not like it when it was made 
fast to the body of the effusion. 

Above it I wrote “ MORAL,” in true 
goody-goody fashion : — 

“ Now, children ! learn a moral here. 

N’er show your passions bad. 

Or you will find, eftsoon, too late 
That mercy cannot then be had,” 


/ make a Holocaust 


153 


That the piteous little prig and Puritan, who 
now re-read the doggerel between tears and 
smiles, was as ignorant of the quality of mercy 
as of the “ passions bad ” that make mercy the 
crying need of the Human, signified less than 
naught to me in those callow days. 

I laughed again when I got to cc eftsoon.” 

“ I borrowed it from the ‘Ancient Mariner/ no 
doubt,” I commented aloud. cc IPs poor trash 
— that Ode, but I was happy while composing 
it. I shall never be so well satisfied with any- 
thing else I write.” My tone sharpened. “ After 
this, I shall write nothing but letters. My dream 
is past ! Be it so ! ” 

I heaped the hoarded treasures in the chimney- 
place, and applied a match. The fire bit at 
them with cruel greediness ; the flames, beaten 
this way and that, by the winds blowing up and 
down the throat of the chimney, made quick 
work of the funeral pyre. I thought of Abra- 
ham and Isaac, of Jephthah’s daughter, and of 
Agamemnon and Iphigenia. My mother had 
bidden me make a Holocaust of my offspring. 
I had obeyed. 


154 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


She had counselled me, even with tears, to 
transform myself into a commonplace girl, to 
crucify and to bury my Ideals. In this, too, I 
would be obedient. With never a misgiving 
that an unholy temper and morbid and wilful 
misconstruction of her motives and words were 
at the bottom of my resolution, I contrived 
other and ingenious methods of self-immolation. 
The love of dramatic effect must be a component 
part of my nature. It prompted me now to 
gather up the smoking tinder in the shovel, 
bear it carefully to the window on Mary 'Liza’s 
side of the room, and cc fling it to the winds of 
heaven!" Suggestions of Wyckliffe’s ashes 
committed to the Severn, and borne by the river 
to the sea, strayed into my turbulent musings. 
Three black flakes fluttered back upon Mary 
'Liza’s table. In picking them up I left 
smudges upon the starched white cover. I said 
sullenly that I would not account for them 
when questioned. It was an offence to my 
sense of justice and right that she should go 
through life unwounded and reputable, while I 
was buffeted and besmirched. 


I make a Holocaust 


155 


I took off the brown calico and the white 
apron I had worn all the morning ; rearranged 
my hair, which was curling kinkily in the damp- 
ness that converted the bandeaux of the Pem- 
berton sisters and Paulina Hobson’s lint-white 
corkscrew curls into stringy wisps. From the 
wardrobe I took a freshly laundered rose-colored 
lawn and put it on. My best black silk apron, 
embroidered upon the pockets and on each 
corner with wild roses, was none too fine for 
the everyday wear of the pattern damsel into 
which the “ blue stocking ” (I convicted Paulina 
in my mind of that spiteful fling !) and the 
“ precieuse ridicule ” was to be transmogrified. 

Lastly, I hunted up my long-neglected work- 
bag and tripped sedately down the stairs. 

“ The chamber” was a spacious room. A 
sofa had stood under the high mantel in warm 
weather. It had been wheeled aside to-day, 
to make way for the wood fire blazing on the 
hearth, and stood at an obtuse angle to the 
chimney-piece. My mother’s workstand and 
rocking-chair were opposite, near the western 
window. Mrs. Hobson, a second-cousin-in-law, 


156 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


was next to her; Miss Judy Spencer, Mrs. 
Hobson’s sister, was in another rocking-chair, 
facing the fire. Mary ’Liza was between the 
elder ladies and the three girls who occupied 
the sofa. My mother was sewing; Mrs. Hob- 
son was knitting ; all the others were crocheting. 
Seven pairs of eyes watched my entrance. 

It was Paulina Hobson who cried pertly, — 
“ My ! how fine somebody does look ! ” 

I smiled civilly and conventionally, and crossed 
over to Miss Judy. She was the most common- 
place person I ever knew, or ever expected to 
know. Her hair was drab-colored ; her dress 
was of almost the same shade ; her eyes were 
pale-blue ; she wore a wide, crocheted collar, 
and narrow, crocheted cuffs ; the handkerchief, 
lying half open on her lap, was edged with fine 
crocheted lace. All were of her own make. 

I pulled up a low chair to her side. 

“ I have come to take my first lesson in 
crocheting,” I said, respectfully. “ I couldn’t 
have a better teacher.” 

Had the devil of contrariness been less tri- 
umphantly in possession of me, I must have 


I make a Holocaust 


1 S7 


been touched by the gratified affection in my 
mother’s smile, and the alacrity with which she 
opened a drawer in her workstand (/ have it 
now !) and produced a crochet-hook and a ball 
of cotton. 

cc Here are your tools, daughter ! ” tender en- 
couragement in every tone. “ You will have an 
apt pupil, Miss Judy. There is nothing Molly 
cannot learn when she gives her mind to it.” 


r 



Chapter VIII 

Marion 

“ Comes in my father — 

And, like the tyrannous breathings of the north. 

Shakes all our buds from blowing.” 

— Cymbeline. 

THREE days were given to the pursuit of dead- 
level commonplaceness. They would have been 
insufferable days had not the genius of self- 
torture — beloved by all women, and an integral 
part of my make-up — held me sternly to the 
task. The exhibition would have been ridicu- 
lous to lookers-on if any of them had had the 
remotest suspicion of what I was bent upon. I 
158 


Marion 


159 


crocheted diligently ; I imitated the Pembertons’ 
inanities and Paulina Hobson’s giggle ; I chat- 
tered about nothings and exclaimed at less than 
nothings. I paid much attention to my clothes, 
and had my maid dress my hair in the latest 
mode. I even practised the Grecian bend, then 
in vogue with advanced fashionists. 

The day that I put this on, my father took 
hold of my shoulders and drew them back until 
the blades collided. 

“ Mother ! this child is getting crooked. She 
is outgrowing her strength ! ” 

Paulina’s green eyes gleamed with malicious 
glee, and her chuckle was as the crackling of 
thorns under a pot. She knew the Grecian bend 
when she saw it, and really believed that I was 
aping the carriage of the fine lady in good earnest. 

She did it twenty times a week. Why not 
every girl? 

That same day my father drew his brows into 
a horseshoe on his forehead in a way each of his 
children had had reason to know to his or her 
cost. The occasion now was my silly reply to 
a sensible remark made by Mrs. Hobson. 


160 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


“ What has got into you lately, Molly ? ” he 
asked sharply. “ I don't know you for my 
child ! ” 

“ It’s a wise father who knows his own child ! ” 
retorted I, flippantly, but with no thought of any 
equivocal meaning until I saw my mother’s look 
of pained surprise, and my father’s deepened 
frown, and heard the choked gurgle which signi- 
fied that Paulina was stuffing her handkerchief 
into her mouth — an unseemly habit of hers in 
our governess days, as I well remembered. She 
had a badly soiled imagination — that girl ! 

I had not, if I must do myself justice, and I 
had the grace to color painfully at the luckless 
slip of a tongue that was clean, if sometimes 
lawless. 

Had not the aforenamed demon of perversity 
been in rampant occupancy, I must have noticed 
with repentant shame the sad perplexity in my 
mother’s eyes when they rested upon me during 
my most unworthy and self-imposed novitiate. 
Too honest of purpose, herself, to surmise that 
my caricature of the girl of the period was a 
deliberate insult to her, her tender heart held her 


Marion 


161 


back from telling me that the part was overdone. 
She did go so far as to intimate to me that the 
new style of wearing my hair, which was pur- 
posely exaggerated upon my foolish head, was 
“ hardly as becoming to me as the old way.” 

“ It’s the latest agony ! ” I said, airily. “ Let 
us be genteel if we die for it ! ” 

My father was within hearing. 

“ The latest agony ! ” he repeated, the horse- 
shoe again in evidence. cc Slang may be com- 
patible with what you call c gentility * in a city 
boarding-school. It is not tolerated in my house. 
I thought you knew that, Molly ! ” 

I knew it as well as I comprehended that I 
was doing my best to punish my mother for the 
lecture that had provoked me to destroy the 
hoarded treasures of years. In the recollection 
I hardened my heart against her and reason. 

How long I could and would have kept up the 
pitiable farce was not to be put to the test. The 
Pembertons and Hobsons went home one morn- 
ing, and on the afternoon of the same day Marion 
Cunningham arrived to pay me a long-promised 
visit. I say “me,” for Mary ’Liza had gone 


1 62 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


home with the Pembertons for a week’s stay. 
Moreover, Marion had always been my particular 
friend, although nearer Mary ’Liza’s age than 
mine. 

She was now seventeen, and the most beautiful 
girl in the county, as many others besides myself 
thought. Her hair was dark brown, with brighter 
shades flashing in and among the natural curls ; 
her mouth was exquisite in shape and color, her 
complexion pure pink and white, and her eyes 
were large, dark, and soft. “ Sweetest eyes were 
ever seen,” is the phrase which comes to me when 
I recall their liquid radiance, — the pure spirit, the 
loving, tender heart that looked from them. 

“They are so deep I feel that I could drown 
in them ! ” I had once said to my cousin, Dick 
Carter. 

“ It would be a glorious death ! ” he answered, 
very unexpectedly to me. 

(We will come to that presently.) 

In Mary ’Liza’s absence Marion and I slept 
together. The night was warm, and the harvest 
moon was bright. The room was full of the 
scent of honeysuckles climbing up the walls, and 


Marion 


163 

of lilies lining the garden walks, and we talked 
until midnight, lying peacefully and happily high 
upon our pillows. 

Marion had been educated at home by govern- 
esses, and lately by a young clergyman who had 
married her elder sister in July, and taken her 
to Norfolk to live. Marion told me all about 
the wedding, and how happy the newly wedded 
pair were in their neat parsonage. She had been 
her sister’s first bridesmaid. There were seven 
bridesmaids and seven groomsmen. 

“ Dick Carter walked with you, didn’t he ? ” 
asked I, carelessly. 

Dick was one of my favorite cousins, not 
merely because he was Cousin Molly Belle’s 
brother, and because he was a nice boy, good- 
looking, bright, and the best company in the 
world, but he had always been kind and attentive 
to me — a slip of a girl who neither danced nor 
flirted. He was twenty-two years old ; he had 
taken his degree at the University, and was going 
to Philadelphia very soon to complete a course 
of study in Jefferson Medical College. He and 
Marion Cunningham and I had been chums ever 


164 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


since I could recollect. Her mother was Uncle 
Carter's sister, so he was Marion's first cousin, 
although she was not related by blood to me, a 
distinction of which we made little account in 
Old Virginia. 

The moonlight was so clear that I saw a scarlet 
cloud sweep over the face upon the other pillow, 
as I put the careless question, and I wondered at 
it — for a minute. 

Then Marion raised a thick lock of hair in her 
hand, and held it between her face and the flood 
of rays pouring across the bed from the window, 
letting the strands fall slowly through her fingers, 
as in idle play. The motion was instinctive and 
natural. She never posed, or “ pretended " 
anything. 

“Yes,” she said tranquilly. “I couldn’t go 
in with one of my brothers, and he and Mr. 
Tyrrell are great friends. He studied with 
Mr. Tyrrell for two vacations, you know.” 

I pushed my parallels a little further, for a 
thought had popped into my restless brain. 

“ Is he as nice as ever ? I haven't seen him 


in six months.” 


Marion 


165 


“ Oh, yes ! Father says he is one of the finest 
fellows he ever knew, and that he is sure to make 
a name and place for himself. Some people think 
it odd that Kate should marry our tutor. But 
we are sure she could not have made a better 
choice. I wish you could have seen her in her 
wedding-dress ! She was so pretty and happy, 
and so self-possessed ! You felt in looking at 
her that she had made no mistake. Mr. Tyrrell 
looked remarkably well, too. He is a graceful, 
dignified man, always, but bridegrooms are often 
ill at ease, — I can't imagine why." 

The thought was born, and it was a conviction. 
I had not meant Mr. Tyrrell, and Marion was 
not stupid. Nor had I ever heard her talk away 
from a subject until now. She was tactfully 
ready to follow others' lead. Dick was in love 
with her, and she knew it ! Not as much in 
love with her as Mr. Frederic Sedley would be 
with me, some day, when the tabernacle was 
opened for good and all. These two had been 
boy and girl together, — almost like brother and 
sister, — and there would be none of the reserves 
of comparative strangerhood to break down, a 


1 66 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


process which promised sweet and infinite possi- 
bilities to my imagination. “Getting acquainted” 
would be delightsome beyond compare — the dis- 
covery, day by day, of some new charm of char- 
acter, some hidden depth of feeling, some mine 
of intellectual wealth hitherto unsuspected. A 
shade of regret stole into the pleasure with which 
the undeveloped woman caught at the suggestion 
of a love-story. 

“ Now,” resumed Marion, perhaps struck by 
my silence, “ tell me about your school and all 
you have been doing since Christmas. How 
long ago it seems ! Cousin Molly Belle told 
mother what a good student you are.” 

She had the inborn knack of praising truth- 
fully. Fair and goodly things floated to her by 
spiritual gravitation. She had the rarer faculty 
of inviting confidence, and the gift of healing that 
does not invariably accompany it. 

I had not been able to talk with my mother of 
my broken friendship with Sidney Page and the 
humiliating episode of my compromising associa- 
tion with Julia Dorman. I would have shrunk 
from the gentlest catechism as from a spatter of 


Marion 


167 


vitriol upon the bare skin. Before I knew what 
I was doing, I poured the tale into Marion's ear, 
omitting no harrowing detail. I was an hour in 
telling it. When the recital was ended, I was 
shaking in a paroxysm of tearless sobs, and as 
cold as if the night had been in January, and not 
in August. 

She wound her soft, tender arms about me, 
laid her lips to my cheek, and comforted me with 
cooing words, before she essayed comment upon 
what she had heard. Her sympathy was all with 
me, and she gave it in royal measure. The rest 
of the actors were mere puppets, pushed aside 
that she might the more easily get at me and 
pour oil and wine into wounds which were 
bleeding afresh. She was far from being brill- 
iant ; she was not even very clever. She was 
simply all-womanly, with a heart that always 
responded — a harp that was always in tune — 
to another's sorrow, and yearned to assuage that 
sorrow. And she saw that my grief was great — 
even yet. 

At half-past twelve my mother tapped at our 
door. 


1 68 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


“Dear children! this is not right! You 
should have been asleep hours ago. You will 
have all of to-morrow in which to talk. I am 
afraid you will bring pale cheeks down to break- 
fast with you, if not a headache apiece.” 

She was a true prophet so far as Marion was 
concerned. She ate little breakfast, but drank a 
cup of coffee thirstily, c< hoping it would relieve 
her headache.” 

“Indeed, Cousin Mary,” — as my mother ex- 
claimed distressfully at my thoughtlessness in 
having kept my guest awake so late, — “that 
had nothing to do with it ! I have had headaches 
almost constantly for a fortnight. I had a chill, 
too, last week. I reckon it is what Mammy 
Rachel calls c a tech o’ nager ’n’ fever.' The 
change of air will do me great good. Uncle 
John Carter makes father almost angry by insist- 
ing that this part of the county is more healthy 
than the river lands. Our lowgrounds have been 
overflowed so much this summer that we have 
had more sickness than usual.” 

Her face was colorless while she made cheerful 
talk ; her sweet lips were so dry and drawn that 


Marion 


169 


my mother gave her no peace until she bundled 
her off to bed about eleven o’clock. Marion 
protested bravely to the last that nothing ailed 
her except “ one of her bad headaches.” 

“ I inherit them from mother,” she added, 
when she was laid between linen sheets, the room 
darkened, and my maid, Rose, posted without 
the door to keep the hall quiet. “I often tell 
her that, when she has so many good things she 
could have given me, it is a pity she passed her 
headaches on to me. I’m sure I’ll sleep this one 
off in a few hours. Thank you all for being so 
good to me ! ” 

She was sleeping still at dinner-time, and 
Marthy, the nurse, par eminence , of the plantation, 
decreed that she should not be disturbed. 

“ I been know them headaches of old,” she 
uttered. “ Her Mar — Miss Catherine — been 
had jes’ the same kind. An’ wuss ! I been see 
her jes’ straight, outright deestracted with ’um 
for two days at a time. Ef so be Miss Mar’on 
ken sleep ’tel the pain w’ar itself out, it’s the bes’ 
thing.” 

By the time dinner was over, Dick Carter rode 


170 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


up to the door to make us a formal call. He 
was to set out for Philadelphia next day. He 
did not say in so many words that he had not 
known Marion was with us until we mentioned 
it, but he let us infer as much from his manner. 
He, too, treated her headache as a matter of no 
moment, although he expressed decent regrets. 

By and by he proposed that I should walk 
down to the Old Orchard with him. 

<c I am c just a-honin’ * for a sweeting apple,” — 
this to my mother. cc I mean to fill my pockets 
and take some to Philadelphia with me. I shan’t 
taste anything else so good until I come back. 
One of the first things I can recollect is stuffing 
my pockets with the Burwell sweetings. Father 
says ours are the same. They don’t taste like 
yours. Heigho ! ” 

“A sigh to the memory of departing joys?” 
queried I, when he said <c Heigho ! ” again. 

We were going down the middle walk of the 
garden, at the foot of which lay the Old Orchard. 
“ Yes ! How did you know ? ” 

“ Because you look so woebegone. Are you 
homesick already ? ” 


Marion 


171 

“Yes — and no! I’ll tell you all about it 
presently, Molly.” 

Not a word more spake he until we were in 
the natural arbor, twenty feet across, made by the 
“ big sweeting.” The ground was strewn with 
windfalls. Dick kicked them right and left to 
clear a place on the turf for us to sit upon. The 
grass was lush and clean, the ground dry. Three 
days of August suns had made quick work of 
the August rainfalls. 

“ Who would think that we had had a two- 
days’ storm less than a week ago ? ” said I, by 
way of saying something, for Dick sat with his 
legs straight out before him on the ground, 
seemingly engrossed in picking up apples, in- 
specting them minutely to see they were of uni- 
form size until he had a handful, then shying 
them at the tree nearest to the giant sweeting. 

The action and his air of abstraction carried 
my thoughts back to the Saturday afternoon at 
the City Spring when Sidney Page threw pebbles 
at the thirsty robin. My heart lurched sick- 
eningly. 

Dick suspended operations for a moment. 


1 72 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 

“ Ah, yes ! ” he snarled. “ I spent those two 
rainy days at Rhysdale ; the first in heaven, the 
second in hell l ” 

His handsome face was not pleasant to see 
as he said it. I recoiled in angry horror. 

“ Dick Carter ! ” 

“ I mean it, Molly Burwell ! and more ! I 
brought you down here because I must talk to 
somebody, or — strangle ! And she is mighty 
fond of you. I suppose she has told you all 
about it, before now ? ” — glaring suspiciously 
at me out of the corner of his eye. “Your 
mother says you two were gabbling last night 
until all hours.” 

I arose to the occasion, manning all the forces 
at my command : — 

“ If you mean Marion Cunningham, she has 
not mentioned your name. I asked her if you 
stood up with her at the wedding. She said 
c Yes,’ and began at once to tell me what a 
splendid fellow her brother-in-law is. It does 
not occur to you, I suppose, that you might 
have suffered by the contrast ? ” 

If he were savage, I could be satirical. 


Marion 


173 


The shaft fell short. 

“ There it is ! ” A fusillade of apples of all 
sizes pelted an inoffensive trunk a rod distant. 
“ Kate is welcome to marry a pedagogue parson 
of no particular pedigree, and no looks to boast 
of, and because I happen to be a gentleman of 
his own blood who means to make something of 
myself in my profession, if I live, — and marry 
the right woman, — I am sent about my busi- 
ness when I ask his consent to my engagement 
to his second daughter! It isn’t just! It 
isn’t fair ! and if he hadn’t been Marion’s father, 
I would have told him so to his face ! ” 

“ Dick Carter ! ” Astonishment robbed me 
of other words. 

“ That’s my name ! and if there is a more 
wretched devil this side of purgatory, — or a 
hotter place, — I don’t want to see him ! ” 

“ Isn’t this a sudden notion ? ” I blundered. 

He looked as if he would like to fling me 
after the apples. He had picked up so many 
that he had to lean far to each side in order to 
reach more. Reach them he must — apparently. 

“ Sudden ! when she’s the one and only girl 


174 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


I have ever cared to look at a second time, since 
she could run alone ! If I have courted her 
once, I’ve courted her seventy times seven ! In 
fact, my life has been one long courtship. I’ve 
begged her like a hound-dog begs for a bone ; 
I've pretended I didn’t care a continental damn 
for her ; I’ve been merry with her, and more 
times I’ve been miserable with her — and she’s 
been an angel through it all. And, last Wednes- 
day, when it was raining hardest and we had 
the parlor to ourselves for the better part of the 
day, — making believe playing chess, for a blind, 
— I coaxed and prayed her into saying — never 
mind what ! That was the day I was in heaven ! 
As I was going away so soon, and neither of us 
is a friend to underhand measures, I went to her 
father like a man, and — that's the day I entered 
hell ! I’ve been there ever since ! O Lord ! ” 

So few missiles were within the sweep of his 
long arms that he stopped the firing — much 
to my relief. 

“ I certainly am mighty sorry for you ! ” said 
I, in genuine distress. “ And I must say I don’t 
understand why Mr. Cunningham behaves so. 


Marion 


175 


I should think regard for his daughter’s happi- 
ness would induce him to take the matter into 
consideration, at least.” 

“ Said he was consulting her best good,” mut- 
tered Dick, gloomily. “ Had no objection to 
me, personally. Clean papers and all that. If 
I belonged to another family, and if Marion were 
two years older, he’d decide differently. Talked 
like a mournful Dutch uncle ! Confound his 
premises and conclusions ! ” 

Cf Another family ! Why, it’s his own ! ” 

<c Molly Burwell ! what are you dreaming 
about ? Haven’t I been telling you for the 
past hour that that is the insuperable obsta- 
cle ? My revered uncle has got a maggot 
— some hundreds of them, in fact — in his 
brain about the sin — think of that ! the posi- 
tive iniquity of the marriage of first cousins ! 
Ah ! you can see a thing when it’s an inch from 
your nose — can you?” for an ejaculation had 
escaped me. 

“ I hadn’t thought of it until this minute,” 
said I, “but I’ve heard him talk about that with 
my father. He thinks just as Mr. Cunningham 


ij6 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


does. He says it is almost as wrong for first 
cousins to marry as for brothers and sisters.” 

“Gammon and poppycock! As if Uncle 
Cunningham’s first wife was not his second 
cousin, and his second wife — Marion’s mother 
— his double first! If I were in his place, I’d 
be consistent before sitting in judgment upon 
other people.” 

He ground the heel of his boot into the turf 
until I could not help thinking of a bull pawing 
up the earth. 

“ Perhaps ” — I essayed to be judicial as 
memory, refreshed, brought back scraps of the 
arguments used by the two fathers — “Perhaps 
that is one reason of his opposition. I recollect 
perfectly that he spoke of those intermarriages 
in talking with father. He said they were not 
the first in his family, and that there was insanity 
in some branch of it, because there had been 
intermarriages for several generations.” 

I was recollecting so fast now that I hurried 
on, tactlessly, forgetting what interest my listener 
must have in the revelation : — 

“ Mr. Cunningham showed father a table he 


Marion 


1 77 


had made out, calculating exactly the chances 
his grandchildren would have of escaping in- 
sanity. The odds are against them, should there 
be any more marriages between near relations.” 

I broke off short at sight of his face, where 
incredulity and disgust struggled for mastery. 

“Well l I will say — even if one of them is 
your father and the other my uncle, and Marion’s 
respectable parent — that they might have chosen 
a topic more fit for the ears of a young lady! 
And I confess, — since frankness is the order 
of the day, — I am a leetle surprised at your 
repeating their choice calculations to me. As 
a cousin and a physician, I advise you not to 
enlarge upon the subject in mixed companies.” 

I got up in a towering passion. For the 
second time in a week I had been accused, 
inferentially, of indelicacy, and his taunt stung. 
My repetition of Mr. Cunningham’s statistics 
was entirely impersonal. He may have included 
in his calculation the probable risks of mar- 
riages between his daughters and his sister’s 
sons. I could not recollect how this was. The 
impertinent assumption on Dick’s part that I had 


178 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


alluded to this was a gross affront. He was on 
his feet, too, as red with rage as I was white. 

“We will say ‘Good-by' here and now, if 
you please ! ” I said in a tone of awful calm- 
ness. “ I am going to the house alone. You 
can stay and fill your pockets with sweetings. 
I hope you will have a pleasant journey. With 
regard to Mr. Cunningham’s objections to you 
as a son-in-law, I have more sympathy with 
him than I had a few minutes ago. It is natural 
for him to wish that his daughters should marry 
gentlemen l ” 

He overtook me at the garden fence, al- 
though I walked fast. He caught my hands 
in a vicelike grasp from which I could not 
wrench them; his lips were twitching; white 
dots came and went in his nostrils. I stood 
stock-still when I could not extricate my hands. 
Struggling was undignified. My passion was 
not spent, whatever might be said of his. I 
looked fearlessly into his eyes as he tried to 
articulate and the words would not come. 

“ Brute force ? ” I said cuttingly. “ Consist- 
ency is a jewel ! ” 


Marion 


179 


“For Heaven's sake, Molly, don't!” burst 
forth the poor boy. He was hardly more. “ I 
know I am a brute — and a cowardly brute at 
that ! I ought to be tied up for nine-and-thirty ! 
I beg your pardon, but I don't deserve to be for- 
given. Can't you see that I am fairly crazy ? 
Have you no pity for a fellow who has lost 
everything dearest to him and who is beaten 
and desperate ? She sent me away without one 
ray of hope. She told me she could not dis- 
obey her father ; that I must never think of 
her again except as a cousin. And she meant it, 
Molly — every syllable of it! When she is 
convinced that a thing is right, she will do that 
thing if it leads her to the stake. I haven't 
known her all her life, and not found that out. 
I came here to-day, like a mean-spirited cur, to 
get a last look at her blessed face. When I 
found that I couldn't have it, I couldn't go 
without asking you — her dear friend — to pity 
me and to talk to her about me while I am 
away — maybe to write to me — now and then, 
and let me know something about her. 

“And now, — like the double-distilled donkey , 


180 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


the contemptible puppy, I am, — I have set you 
against me, too ! ” 

He let fall the hands he was bruising cruelly, 
dropped his head upon the top-rail of the fence, 
and sobbed outright. 

He was just twenty-two years old ! 



Chapter IX 

The Blessed Damozel 

€€ The blessed damozel leaned out 
From the gold bar of heaven ; 

Her eyes were deeper than the depth 
Of waters stilled at even ; 

She had three lilies in her hand. 

And the stars in her hair were seven.* * 

— Rossetti. 

I WILL not go into the particulars of a 
making-up as whole-hearted as our quarrel had 
been. Dick and I strolled to the house to- 
gether, arranging details of a correspondence in 
which he was to ask all the questions he wished 
to ask, and I was to answer them fully. I was 
181 


1 82 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


measurably comforted at parting with a beloved 
cousin by the importance of my commission as 
confidante-in-chief, and gladly entered upon the 
duties of my office by running upstairs to see if 
Marion were awake. 

“ If she would just look out of the window 
once and let me have a glimpse of her, I should 
go away with a lighter heart,” was the message I 
took to her bedside. 

She was half-awake and opened her eyes wide 
when I knelt down to say the words in her ear. 
By the time they were said, she staggered to her 
feet, pushing back her hair from her temples with 
both hands, and reached for a pink dressing- 
gown lying across a chair. 

“ Of course I will ! ” she said in short breaths. 
c< It is very little to ask ! the very least I can do ! 
Which window, did you say ? ” 

It was that about which the honeysuckles 
grew. She was dizzy with pain, still. I steadied 
her as she walked, and opened the shutters. 
The flower scent rushed in in warm waves from 
the jarred vines. As Marion leaned over the 
sill, the sprays, starred with pale blossoms, framed 


The Blessed Damozel 


183 


her face and figure for the eyes strained upward 
for the coveted c< glimpse.” 

The Blessed Damozel of the rapt poet’s dream 
looking “ over the gold bar of heaven,” was not 
fairer. 

Dick stood under a great catalpa tree near the 
front gate. The boughs, heavy with flowers, 
almost touched the head bared as he caught sight 
of the apparition in the window. Marion waved 
her hand and smiled. 

Such a smile I shall never see again until we 
meet on the thither side of the gold bar. 

I drew back involuntarily as Dick’s eyes met 
hers. What that long, last look said was theirs 
— theirs, alone. Not a word was spoken by 
either. 

My mother’s voice from the porch broke the 
spell, or the mute communion of spirits. She 
had just come out, and did not glance toward our 
window. 

“ Are you waiting to say c Good-by ’ to 
Molly, Dick ? I think she went up to Marion’s 
room. Shall I call her?” 

“ No, thank you, Auntie ! She and I have 


184 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


said £ Good-by/ Is Uncle Burwell around any- 
where ? Td like to see him before I go.” 

His tone was manly and hearty. I knew 
from it what strength he had drawn from the 
<c glimpse.” I had pulled the shutters inward, 
in obedience to Marion’s gesture, leaving a little 
space between them. We stood together, look- 
ing through the crack, my arms about her sway- 
ing form, while Dick mounted and rode down 
the lane between the double row of catalpas. 
He was a gallant figure, erect and stalwart, sitting 
the horse as if he were a part of him, and carrying 
his head high, as one who goes forth to fight and 
to win. 

Marion pressed her temples between her palms 
in turning from the window. 

“ I am afraid I must lie down again,” she said 
feebly. “ For a little while, you know ! I do 
want to be brave ! He is ! ” 

I helped her back to bed. Then I went down- 
stairs to ask Marthy to make a cup of coffee for 
her, and stayed away a long time. 

Marthy would not let me take up the tray. 
(We called it a “ waiter ” in Old Virginia.) 


The Blessed Damozel 


185 


“ You mought slop the coffee inter the saucer/’ 
she explained. “An’ thar’s nothin’ in th’ youner- 
verse as upsets a onverleed’s appetite ekal to 
slopped coffee — or anything else sloppy, fer that 
matter ! ” 

Marion lay on her side, her face toward the 
door. She opened her eyes and smiled at our 
entrance. I heard Marthy catch her breath, as 
one might who makes a misstep, or is struck 
from behind. Yet she spoke softly and with 
composure. 

“ Miss Mar’on, honey ! I want you to take a 
few mouthfuls o’ coffee. You don’t want it, I 
know, but you’ll take it jes’ to obleege me whar 
waited ’pon you’ mar when she warn’t no older 
’n you is now.” 

I exclaimed when her next movement was to 
open the shutters and let in the light upon the 
bed. Marion’s eyes were heavy and the lids 
were flushed. She shielded them with her hand. 

“ I’ll shet the blinds agen in a minute,” said 
Marthy, soothingly. “ I wanted to see how much 
makin’ up you’ bed needs. You’ll be comfort- 
abler with a clean piller-case.” 


1 86 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


She closed the shutters, smiled encouragingly 
upon Marion's success in swallowing half a cup of 
coffee, adjusted pillows and sheet, stroked back the 
disordered curls, and disappeared with her tray. 

Marion's hand groped for mine in the twilight 
made by the closed shutters. Her fingers were 
hot and tremulous. 

“ Molly, dear ! ” 

<c Yes, darling ! ” 

“You won't mind my not talking? I can't — 
yet ! But I'm glad you know ! " I bent to kiss 
her forehead, and pressed her hand. 

“ It is all right, dear ! I understand ! ” 

“ Thank you ! " 

The murmur was hardly audible. After that 
nothing was said while I sat by the bed, fanning 
her gently, and seeing her features less and less 
distinctly as the night crept about us from the 
corners of the room. I could just trace the out- 
lines of her profile against the white pillow when 
my mother entered, as noiselessly as a shadow. 

My warning finger was not needed. She mo- 
tioned to me to yield my post to her, and, still in 
dumb show, sent me down to supper. 


The Blessed Damozel 


1 87 


From the stairhead I saw Dr. Skelton in the 
lower hall. He was laying aside his hat and 
riding-whip and had the manner of one bent upon 
business. I comprehended at once that he had 
been sent for, and to see Marion. My father 
met him with a grave face that terrified me even 
more. I sat down on the top stair, too weak to 
stand, and heard all they said. Marthy, whose 
opinion both accepted without question, thought 
that Marion was threatened with serious illness. 
She had spoken of having a chill a few days 
before ; she had had a constant headache for over 
a week ; she had fever now, and Marthy had 
detected that afternoon the peculiar glassiness in 
the eyes, the flushing of one cheek, and not the 
other, which indicated to the trained eye a disease 
greatly dreaded in central and southern Virginia 
— congestive fever. 

I sat on the stairs until the two men came up. 
The doctor bade me a jaunty “ How d'ye do ? ” 
My father laid his hand in sympathy upon my 
head in passing. He understood me when few 
others did. Even he could not guess the leaden 
weight that bore my heart down to the lowest 


1 88 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


depths when I reflected that Dick Carter would 
begin his northward journey to-morrow morn- 
ing ; that in twenty-four hours he would be 
beyond the reach of tidings from us. The mag- 
netic telegraph was still an unknown luxury in 
rural Virginia, and Richmond, thirty miles away, 
was the nearest railway station. 

I clutched at my throat in the quick imagining 
of what might happen before any word could be 
sent to the absent lover. I ground my teeth and 
clenched my fists in recollecting that nobody 
excepting my impotent, insignificant self would 
recognize the propriety of sending for him were 
Marion on her death-bed. 

Uncle Carter's home was seven miles from ours. 
Had it been half as far I really think I should 
have tried to walk there that night to see Dick, 
so desperate was my mood. My father's foot 
struck the floor of the passage outside of the sick 
room. He stopped when he got to me, and, as 
before, laid his hand upon my head. 

“ Don't be down-hearted, daughter. You are 
too apt to rush to the darkest conclusions. I 
don't think you need be unhappy about Marion. 


The Blessed Damozel 


189 


She is young and strong, and has a good doctor 
and the best nurses in the country. She may be 
up and about in a few days. Mother and I 
thought it well to send for the doctor in time. 
Better be sure than sorry ! ” 

With a lighter heart I followed him down- 
stairs, and took my mother’s place behind the 
tea-tray. She would not leave Marion until 
Marthy had made her preparations to sit up with 
her all night. The doctor complimented me 
upon my “ matronly grace ” when I poured out 
his coffee, and talked politics for the rest of the 
time we were at table. And this after admitting 
that cc Miss Marion might be in for a spell of 
fever, and she might not. By to-morrow night 
he would be able to express a more definite 
opinion ! ” 

By to-morrow at this hour Dick would be on 
the night train for Philadelphia ! 

With the feeling of one who walks and works 
in a dream, with ankles manacled and hands bound 
to his side, I lived through that night and the 
next day. Dr. Skelton was there twice, and on 
his second visit decided to remain all night. By 


190 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


another morning it was determined that Mrs. 
Cunningham should be apprised of her daughter’s 
illness. The messenger returned with the news 
that she was confined to her bed with a slight 
attack of fever similar to that which had stricken 
down the fairest of her flock, and Mr. Cunning- 
ham did not dare let her know of Marion’s con- 
dition. He would be over in person as soon as 
he could get there. 

He came early in the afternoon, bringing a 
neighbor who had volunteered to assist in nurs- 
ing. 

Mr. Cunningham was an old man, twenty 
years the senior of his wife. I met him at the 
front door and conducted him to his daughter’s 
room. Up to this afternoon she had lain most 
of the time in a stupor, a semi-delirium, in which 
she took no notice of those around her, and only 
aroused to swallow food and medicine. When 
she did speak, her voice was a hoarse whisper, 
owing to the dryness of throat and mouth. At 
the sound of her father’s voice, a light broke over 
her face, a smile that restored some resemblance 
to her normal self. She called him by name, 


The Blessed Damozel 19 1 

affectionately and audibly ; when he stooped to 
kiss her, one weak arm went up to his neck. 

I had not greeted Mr. Cunningham cordially. 
Feeling that his edict had caused his child infinite 
sorrow, and perhaps had led to her present illness, 
I could not be friendly, even in seeming. I did 
not doubt their mutual devotion when I saw the 
effect his presence had upon her, and the strong 
emotion he was too infirm to conceal. The large, 
slow, painful tears of age fell from his eyes upon 
the hands he held fast to his lips, unable to utter 
an articulate sound. Marion’s smile was un- 
earthly sweet. 

“ My dear, dear father ! ” she murmured, try- 
ing to speak plainly. Cf I am better to-day. 
Ever and ever so much better. Am I not, 
Molly ? And seeing you, father, will make me 
almost well. What day of the week is this ? ” — 
putting her hand to her forehead, confusedly. 
“Monday — did you say, Molly? I shall go 
home on Friday. Look out for me 1 ” 

<£ My lamb ! my baby ! you could not bear the 
journey. If you were put into a carriage, your 
precious life would go out like the flame of a 


192 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


candle. Wait until you are stronger/’ quavered 
the old man, too much overcome to choose his 
words. 

The weak hand patted his wrinkled face and 
tried to brush off the senile tears. Her smile was 
tenderly arch. 

<c You’ll see me at home on Friday! Did I 
ever break a promise to you ? I am not really 
sick. I have no pain. Even the headache has 
gone — for good, I hope. I am only very tired 
— that’s all — ” turning her cheek to the pillow, 
with a long, broken sigh. “ Tired, and so sleepy, 
sleepy ! sleep — / ” 

The old man left her asleep. That was what 
they called the lethargy to him. He dared not 
remain from home over night for fear of alarming 
his wife. Dr. Skelton came in as he was leaving, 
and sent him off with hopeful words. The seiz- 
ure was the climax of what had been working in 
Miss Marion’s system for weeks. She had 
fought it bravely, but even brave women had to 
succumb to fever. There was a great deal of 
fever in the county this season. So much rain, 
followed by hot suns, must bring about a deplor- 


The Blessed Damozel 


193 


able state of general health. Especially when our 
lowgrounds were imperfectly drained. 

Mr. Cunningham’s foot was upon the carriage 
step, his bulky body half within the roomy 
vehicle. He swung himself with a grunt on to 
the seat, and leaned forward. 

“My lowgrounds are as well drained as any 
in the state of Virginia, sir ! I defy you to show 
me any better ! ” 

He slammed the door and lifted his hat with a 
shaking hand. “ Good day, gentlemen ! Drive 
on, Ned ! ” 

“ I thought that would change the run of his 
ideas for a while,” grinned the doctor, as he and 
my father turned back to the house. “ A 
counter-irritant isn’t a bad thing sometimes.” 

Both of them laughed. I heard it all from the 
upper window. And in the room behind me the 
old man’s “ lamb,” his baby, Dick Carter’s idol- 
ized angel, was swimming for her life, deaf to 
weeping and to laughter ! Oh, it was a heartless, 
wicked world ! 

I was allowed to sit up with Marion until mid- 
night. If anybody else in the house were awake, 


194 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


no sound penetrated to the darkened upper cham- 
ber to prove this. The night was sultry, and every 
window stood wide open. The flowers were too 
spent by the hot day to breathe freshness. Their 
fragrance hung, still and warm, in the air, adding 
to the oppressive closeness that made respiration 
a conscious effort. At eleven o’clock the harvest 
moon was above the wooded horizon ; her beams 
were as yellow as those of the night-lamp set upon 
the floor of the hall. A broad pencil of moon- 
light slid slowly down the wall to the head of the 
bed. My eyes were following it from my seat 
near enough to Marion for her to feel the 
gentle breeze from my fan, when she spoke my 
name. 

A musket-shot would not have startled me 
more, but three days’ apprenticeship in self-for- 
getfulness for the good of the beloved one had 
not been thrown away. 

“ Yes, dear ! ’* I responded quietly, my voice 
hardly louder than the hammering thuds of my 
heart. 

She was quite conscious. I saw that at a glance. 
Her voice, changed though it was, had some of 


The Blessed Damozel 


1 9S 


the soft cadences that used to make her speech 
musical. 

“ We are quite alone, Molly ? ” 

“ There is nobody here but me, Marion. 
What can I do for you ? ” 

“ If I shouldn’t get well, Molly dear — ” 

I gulped down a sob. 

“ Marion ! darling ! don’t think of such a 
thing ! You are better — ever and ever so much 
better ! You told your father so to-day. And 
you’ll be better still to-morrow l ” 

“ I hope so ! For the sake of my father and 
my mother — and Dick — I pray that I may get 
well. I am young, and life is sweet. Give me 
some water, dear, please ! My voice gives out 
when my tongue gets dry.” 

When I brought the water, her hands were 
moving. Something glistened in the moonlight. 
She held it up, and I saw she had drawn a ring 
from the third finger of her left hand. I knew it 
well. She had worn it a long time — a heavy, 
chased ring of an odd design, a tiny ruby heart 
just visible under two clasped hands. 

u Dick gave it to me when I was fifteen and 


196 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


he twenty/’ she said. “ I had won a philopena 
from him and I could not refuse the present, 
although I scolded him for spending so much 
money on it. Mother knew about it, and did 
not object. I want you to keep it for me. If I 
get well, I will take it back. If not — Molly! 
send it to him when you write — I want you to 
write to him and tell him. Nobody else knows. 
Nobody else must know. Tell him I loved him 
to the last — that, had I lived, I could never 
have loved anybody else — and ask him to meet 
me where all the pain, and sorrow, and misunder- 
standings are over. Our being cousins won’t 
make any difference there ! Promise me ! ” 

I promised upon my bended knees, my tears 
bathing the betrothal ring. I told her, too, as 
well as I could for crying, how I was to corre- 
spond with Dick purposely that he might know 
how things were going with her ; how constant 
and devoted was his love for her, and how he 
honored her fidelity to duty. 

She listened, that heavenly smile lighting up 
her glorious eyes. 

“You have made me very happy,” she mur- 


The Blessed Damozel 


197 


mured when the story was done. “ God is good 
to give me this comfortable hour with you ! ” 

Twelve o’clock struck from the clock in the 
hall. 

Right upon the last stroke a timid rap sounded 
on the door, which was half open. 

“ May I venture to hope that the relief-picket 
will not be regarded as an intruder ? ” said precise 
tones, and Miss Marcia Snead pushed the door 
back, her tall figure looming against the dim 
background of the lamplighted hall. 



Chapter X 

Miss Marcia 

“ Learn to live, and live to learn ; 

Ignorance, like a fire doth burn ; 

Little tasks make large return/ * 

— Bayard Taylor. 

CAUSTIC reviewer has saidof certain popular 
tales of New England life, that if they are truth- 
ful portraits of live men and women, then our far 
Eastern States are peopled by “ freaks.” 

At the risk of provoking similar strictures upon 
my pictures of scenes in the Old Dominion which 
I had opportunities of studying such as no other 
living author has enjoyed, I affirm that those 
times and the latitude combined to produce rare 
198 


Miss Marcia 


199 


types of individual character — some grand, many 
grotesque. In that day every human plant had 
room for growth ; each species fructified its own 
kind. The pollen of moral and spiritual influ- 
ence does not fly far. Every family was a close 
corporation, and, within the pale of legislative 
enactments, each was a law unto itself. Social 
and domestic systems were as nearly patriarchal 
as was consonant with the genius of nineteenth- 
century civilization and a republican form of 
government. 

Alban Snead, a planter living upon his patri- 
monial estate of Falling Creek, in comfort that 
might have been luxury, had he been a temperate 
man, was a notable illustration of what I have 
just written. He inherited a large fortune, and 
his wife brought him money, servants, and lands. 
His natural intellectual abilities were more than 
fair ; he had received a liberal education, carrying 
off, with apparent ease, honors his classmates had 
worked hard to gain, and missed. He had 
travelled further and seen more at home and 
abroad than any other resident of the county ; 
his address was agreeable, and, although some- 


200 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


what below the medium stature of vigorous man- 
hood, he was prepossessing in appearance in his 
youth. With all these odds in his favor he was 
known from one side of Powhatan to the other 
as a sot whose violent temper and eccentric 
escapades would have brought him before the 
bench of magistrates a dozen times a year, but for 
family traditions and universal sympathy for his 
wife and children. 

Of these last there were four boys and four 
girls. 

“Just the number for a quadrille ! ” Alban 
Snead would hiccough in the public square on 
Court day. “ And I don't deny that I keep the 
dance going pretty lively generally. If a man 
have not many inches, he must lay to the strap 
more strength. The dancing makes ’em grow 
like weeds. There ain’t one that don’t promise 
to be as tall as their mother.” 

No tutor would stay in the ill-regulated house- 
hold. The girls, as well as the boys, attended 
an old-field school taught by an odd genius who 
could speak Latin fluently, and who wrote down 
the learned tongue in English as “ latten ” ; who 


Miss Marcia 


201 


could analyze every plant in field or fen, and 
register it under the proper scientific name ; who 
knew every problem in Euclid as well as his godly 
wife knew the Shorter Catechism, yet hesitated 
when a scholar asked if Thomas Jefferson or 
Patrick Henry drafted the Declaration of Inde- 
pendence. Alban Snead supplemented the defi- 
ciencies in the old-field curriculum from a wealth 
of general and particular information which gained 
for him the sobriquet of “Walking Dictionary,” 
“ Walker’s ” being the standard lexicon in use in 
Virginia schools. 

Under the joint tutelage of eccentric master 
and worse than eccentric parent, the Snead chil- 
dren were erudite to a proverb. They devoured 
and assimilated works unknown, save by name, to 
many college graduates. Shut out from county 
society by their father’s habits and whims, they fell 
back upon literature for companionship, and when 
they chanced to associate with their neighbors, 
talked like the books upon which they were fed. 

Mrs. Alban Snead was fully six feet high, and 
might have been supposed to be six feet three, so 
lank and spare was she. Her husband did not 


202 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 

rise five feet seven, and was grossly fleshy. It 
was rumored that he beat her when he was drunk. 
But for the incongruities in the picture of the 
roly-poly Benedict flogging the giantess, the 
neighborhood gentry would have looked more 
closely into the scandalous story, and, had it 
proved to be true, would have made the region 
too hot to hold him. There was foundation for 
the report in the cowed, absolutely abject mien 
of the wife, as seen at church. She appeared 
nowhere else abroad, and not regularly there. 
Her chalk-white face was piteous in its drooping 
lines and in the hunted hopelessness of the 
sunken eyes. She stooped more and more with 
each year — her dress, although clean, was that 
of a woman too busy or too listless to take note 
of the coming and going of fashions. Her four 
daughters had the same general air of submission 
to tyrannical rule, A strain of the bellicose 
father saved them from spiritless dejection. The 
boys were all younger and had their “ weird to 
dree n in the years to come. The eldest, a sturdy 
lad of fourteen, had been heard to threaten to 
“ spunk up and take it out of the old man’s 


Miss Marcia 


203 


hide ” as soon as he was big enough. Listeners 
to the threat shrugged their shoulders propheti- 
cally. The “it” was exceeding broad afid of 
long standing. 

Miss Marcia was the first-born of Alban 
Snead's progeny. She was as tall as her mother, 
plain of face and angular of frame, as erudite as 
her father, and as simple of heart and motive als 
the yearling boy who was still at the mother’s 
breast. At an early age her precocious intellect 
and demure behavior had attracted the notice of 
the “ church ladies.” At twenty, she taught a 
class in the Sunday-school at Pine Creek Meeting- 
house. Mary ’Liza and I were put into it at 
my father’s express request. The Cunningham 
sisters also belonged to it, and my mother and 
Mrs. Cunningham made many opportunities of 
showing kindness to the girl so wofully handi- 
capped by heredity and environment. While she 
lived she retained a sense of profound, almost 
worshipful, gratitude toward these two good 
women. By their connivance she procured fine 
sewing to do in order to buy the books her 
father would not give her money to get. The 


204 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


neighborhood was in her confidence and kept the 
secret. Alban Snead would have horsewhipped 
her, grown woman though she was, had he found 
it out. 

She was sewing for Mrs. Cunningham under 
pretext of paying her a visit of several days, 
when the news came of Marion’s illness. At her 
instance the tidings were kept from the mother, 
and Miss Marcia arranged the details of the 
conspiracy. Mrs. Burwell had invited her so 
often to visit her, and since she was sewing for 
Marion, what did Mrs. Cunningham think of 
her going over there with her work, if Mr. 
Cunningham would be good enough to send 
her ? Fitting and fussing with clothes and 
things were not conducive to comfort when 
one was ill. Mrs. Cunningham was too ner- 
vous to be consulted about such matters at 
present. 

The suggestion was couched in phrases far 
more ornate than this abstract. I am certain, 
however, that “ conducive ” is a literal quotation. 

To other accomplishments she joined that of 
skilful nursing. She had once confided to me, 


Miss Marcia 


205 


under the seal of secrecy, that had the “ existing 
conditions and prejudices of society been other 
than what they were, she would have aspired 
to the study — and perhaps ” — glancing warily 
around and lowering her voice — “ even to the 
practice of the healing art, treading, an humble 
follower, in the footsteps of Galen and Hippoc- 
rates. Since, however, it is reckoned unseemly 
for our sex to pursue such avocations, I must 
bow to the will of the powers that be.” 

I have still somewhere among my papers a 
note brought to me by Dick Carter after one 
of his visits at Rhysdale, enclosing a Choice 
Selection of poetry by George Herbert, and 
bearing upon the envelope, “ Urbanity of Rich- 
ard Carter , Esq.f in Miss Marcia's hand. She 
wrote with a quill pen from a pullet's wing, and 
in what are now known as vertical characters. 
There the resemblance to bold, modern pen- 
manship ceased. Miss Marcia's script was 
timid and uncertain. Her speech was, likewise, 
vertical and wavering. 

The thoroughbred Virginia woman has a 
charming trick of ending a sentence which refers 


206 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


to your previous knowledge of the subject, with 
an interrogative inflection. It means, although 
she does not say it in words — “You know?” 
Miss Marcia accentuated the peculiarity by de- 
ferring to her interlocutor. It was as if she 
had been used, from her infancy up, to having 
her opinions roughly challenged, or flatly con- 
tradicted. In my harum-scarum days I shocked 
Mary 'Liza and diverted Marion Cunningham 
by saying that Miss Marcia could not tell us 
in the Sunday-school class that the Bible was 
true without adding — " Don’t you think so, 
too ? ” 

In spite of her harmless peculiarities our liking 
for her was sincere, and our respect for her 
character and attainments great. 

She had brought up a bowl of cracked ice 
and a glass of milk when she came to relieve 
guard, and set down the waiter upon the stand 
without a tinkle. 

“ You are a brave little nurse, Molly ! ” she 
said cheerfully, “ and I make no doubt that 
our invalid is in far better case for your minis- 
trations.” 


Miss Marcia 


207 


Marion answered the implied query : — - 

“ Indeed I am, Miss Marcia. I have not 
felt so bright before for three days. Or is it 
four ? It is hard to keep account of time when 
one is sick. I was telling Molly how good 
you all are to me. More milk ? How fat I 
shall be when I get up! Now, my medicine? 
Then I shall go to sleep again. That is one 
thing in which I am proficient, — sleeping ! Run 
away to bed, Molly ! And you. Miss Marcia, 
must lean back in that big chair and doze. I feel 
sure that I shall not awake until broad daylight.' ’ 

I stole across the hall, barefooted, at sunrise, 
to peep in through the half-open door, and 
tripped back again, light of heart and of step, 
to finish a letter I had begun to Dick. We 
would be sending to the post-office directly 
after breakfast. My pen cantered gayly over 
the paper : — 

“ She is so much improved this morning that 
I may bid you dismiss all forebodings. I have 
just looked into her room and seen our dar- 
ling girl sleeping sweetly and naturally, with a 
healthy flush on her cheeks* and, if possible, 


20 8 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


more beautiful than ever. Miss Marcia c re- 
clines/ as she would say, in the easy-chair, 
looking like a weary obelisk swathed in green 
calico. (Query : why must people with no 
complexions to speak of make it a point of con- 
science to wear grass-green or royal purple ? ) 

“ Truly, my dear cousin, I have told you all 
I know — or that anybody knows about our 
poor dear's illness, now, we hope, nearly over, 
and happily. Don’t vex your soul with the 
idea that 1 am smoothing things over. As I 
have said, she promised her father that she 
would be at home on Friday. I hardly be- 
lieve that , but she is certainly on the high road 
to recovery. I shall send you a daily bulletin 
as long as she is here. I can do this without 
exciting suspicion. Somebody goes to the Court 
House every day, and two of our men have 
wives there.” 

Marion kept the high road bravely all that 
day, and on Wednesday Dr. Skelton was 
jubilant. 

“ One more day’s victory and we shall be 
out of the woods ! ” he ejaculated, looking into 


Miss Marcia 


209 


the grateful eyes upraised to his until he had 
to wink away a gathering mist. “ You needn’t 
laugh at my mixed metaphor, Miss Molly 
Sauce-box ! When a man’s head topples with 
pride and pleasure, he doesn’t pick and choose 
his words. Miss Marshy!” — wheeling upon 
her so quickly that she tilted back upon her 
heels — “ here’s my hand, madam! You are a 
brick of the first water. Conglom’ it ! There’s 
another unholy mixture ! ” 

We were all laughing, Marion most heartily 
of all, being too weak to control her risibles, 
and he feigned to be furious at our “ giggling 
like a gang of giddy geese ! ” 

Then, sobering down, he sat on the bedside, 
felt Marion’s pulse, looked at her tongue, and 
notified her solemnly that she was to have a 
piece of the breast of a chicken for dinner ; that 
she was to eat every scrap of it, and wash it 
down with a glass of porteree. 

cc Such porteree as nobody but Mrs. Burwell 
here makes to perfection ! ” glancing over his 
shoulder to bow to my mother. “ Porteree — 
concocted according to her recipe, ice-cold, and 


2io When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


powdered with nutmeg — is, I am convinced, 
what Homer and the rest of those old ignora- 
muses miscalled ‘nectar/ By Jingo! — sav- 
ing your presence, ladies — I’d be willing to 
be sick in bed for a week to get a drink of it on 
a scorching August day ! ” 

“ Then I can go home on Friday ! ” said 
Marion, unexpectedly. 

The doctor was not nonplussed. He pulled 
one mutton-chop whisker and seemed to study. 

<c Friday ! Let me see ! Hum-m-m ! Con- 
tinue to behave yourself and do everything Miss 
Marshy here tells you to do, if it is to eat an ox 
whole, and on Friday we shall see what we shall 
see ! ” 

cc Because,” pursued Marion, as sweetly and 
steadily as before, “ I promised father that I 
would — and I never break a promise to my 
father ! ” 

She had the chicken breast and a glass of my 
mother's incomparable porteree at noon, and 
enjoyed both. 

I was writing a description of the scene with 
the doctor, in my temporary quarters across the 


Miss Marcia 


211 


hall, at five o’clock, when Miss Marcia’s depre- 
catory tap fell upon the doorpost. 

“ I crave a thousand pardons, Molly, my dear ! 
but your ever thoughtful mother has actually ex- 
pelled me from the dormitory where I cannot but 
feel that my duty lies. She will have it that you 
and I should taste the outer air for an hour at 
least, she taking my post as sentinel and hospital 
custodian. Am I conflicting with any more 
agreeable disposition of your time ? ” 

<c Not a bit of it ! ” called I, jauntily. Her 
stilted pleasantry always drove me into curt slang. 
cc I’ll be along in a jiffy. Wait for me on the 
back porch. It’s too dusty to walk in the 
road ! ” 

I scribbled a few hasty lines to Dick, humming 
a negro melody as my steel pen rioted down the 
page. 

“ Miss Marcia has just looked in to say that 
Mother has relieved her guard in M.’s room, and 
that she and I are to hie us forth to inhale the 
evening breezes — or words to that effect. Like 
myself, Miss Marcia is in high spirits — positively 
frisky, in fact. 


212 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


“ < I know it is a sin 
For me to sit and grin 
At her here — ’ 

But I wish she didn’t remind me of a jocular 
giraffe when she grows sportive in speech. I 
shall lead her home by way of the Old Orchard, 
and munch a sweeting apple in memory of you. 
I shall finish this (D. V.) to-night, or early in the 
morning. So, as Miss Marcia would say — 
c more anon ! ’ ” 

That was how it happened that when the sun 
was but a yard or two above the tree-tops, Miss 
Marcia and I were confabulating comfortably in 
the circular natural arbor about the bole of the 
big sweeting. The pigs had been let into the 
Old Orchard for a day since Dick and I had 
quarrelled in what was to me a historic area. 
They had made a clean sweep of windfalls, sound 
and unsound. Not one remained of the hun- 
dred or so the despairing lover had battered to 
pieces against tree trunks. I had to shake a 
limb to get a few apples for our eating. While 
we slaked our thirst and tickled our palates with 
them, I recounted the wondrous tale of a prize- 


Miss Marcia 


213 


fight between two “ devil’s race-horses ” (the 
“praying Mantis ”) I had umpired in this arena, 
six or seven years ago, for Cousin Molly Belle’s 
entertainment. Miss Marcia hearkened with 
flattering interest, going on from that point to tell 
of other habits of the same queer “ beastie ” (the 
term was mine, not hers), and from this to relate 
wonders concerning bugs, beetles, and other creep- 
ing creatures and birds, which opened my eyes to 
the extent of her researches in natural history. 

She alluded modestly to these as “ studies in 
entomology and ornithology.” 

“ Prosecuted under circumstances of peculiar 
difficulty,” she said, “ for the lack of scientific 
books. My dream from an early period of ado- 
lescence has been to go to a city boarding-school. 
I long for the friction of intellect against intellect 
that would develop what poor gifts are mine by 
providential endowment. The longing has grown 
into a passion. Mine eyes prevent the night- 
watches ; I am haunted by day. Like Rachel of 
old, but with a difference in the object of agoniz- 
ing desire, I cry, ‘ Give me knowledge, or I 
die ! ’ ” 


214 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


She sat upon a large stone at the foot of the 
tree, her lank arms wound about her knees, her 
sallow skin muddied, rather than ruddied, by ex- 
cess of feeling. I was stunned and dumb. Had 
the gray bole behind her broken into impassioned 
speech, I could hardly have been more amazed. 
Recalling that Dick Carter had once called her, to 
me, “ an animated primer bound in buckram,” I 
wondered what he would say could he see her 
now and thus, and hear the outbreak of the long- 
imprisoned tide of ambitious desire. 

She went on, staring straight before her with 
eyes that saw naught visible to mine. 

“ There is sin in it, I am aware ; heinous trans- 
gression of the tenth commandment. Sin that is 
revealed to my conscience whenever I hear or 
recite — c Nor anything that is thy neighbor’s/ 
I covet my neighbors’ educational advantages; 
their intellectual nutriment. I would barter ten 
years of such existence as lies before me to go for 
one year to your school ; to study your lessons ; 
to sit at the feet of your Gamaliels and drink in 
knowledge ! ” 

Every line in the homely visage was tense ; 


Miss Marcia 


215 


the muscles showed in her lean arms and wrists 
like bow-strings. I was too much moved to 
smile at the absurd visionings. 

“ Dear Miss Marcia ! ” I said gently, “ there 
is not one of my teachers who knows one-half as 
much as you ! You could learn nothing from 
them worth your having. Why, I heard father 
tell Dr. Skelton yesterday that there were not 
three better-read people than you in the 
county ! ” 

“ f Better-read * is not equivalent to better- 
educated. I am deficient in the education (from 
educere , drawing out) — the training of mental 
powers — that comes from communion with other 
and finer intellects, more richly stored with what 
I have never had the opportunity of acquiring. 
When I read of the salons of Madame de Stael, the 
colleagues of Madame Roland, the daily associates 
of Hannah More, my soul is like a caged bird. 
And I shall die athirst and famished ! As I 
have lived ! As I am living ! ” 

Here was a form of suffering clean beyond 
my ken. I had read of, and imagined for myself, 
the yearning for affection as for living waters. 


216 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


and believed that one might die of the unap- 
peased longing. The passion for learning for 
learning’s sake, the cry of the intellect for a com- 
panion mind, belonged to an undiscovered coun- 
try. Perhaps because I had been born and had 
lived amid congenial surroundings, and my mind 
had always been supplied with as much food as 
it could digest. Yet I appreciated the reality 
of her suffering. I thought of it with acute 
sympathy, when I read, years later, Alexander 
Smith’s outcry : — 

f< Oh, I feel like a seed in the cold earth. 

Quickening at the heart and longing for the air ! ” 

With this woman “ earth ” meant “ grave,” with 
no hope of resurrection. 

“ I wish I could exchange places with you ! ” 
I said as awkwardly as untruthfully. 

She threw out both arms to their full length. 

“For God’s sake, child, do not speak such 
blasphemy! But One — since the beginning of 
the ages — has voluntarily exchanged heaven for 
hell, and He prayed that the cup might pass 
from Him if possible! It was not possible for 
Him ! Some day — whether in the body or out 


Miss Marcia 


217 


of it, I know not — God knows ! — I may be 
able to say, ‘ Nevertheless, not my will, but 
Thine be done ! * ” 

I was confounded to see her arise deliberately 
from her seat and begin to pick off the bits of 
moss and twigs sticking to her skirt as carefully 
as if we had been discussing the most common- 
place of topics. She had taken firm hold of her 
other self and thrust it back into the grave. 

“ The day is drawing to its close ” — enunciat- 
ing each syllable so circumspectly that I fancied 
the letters must prick her lips in passing. “ I 
apprehend that your mother will be accusing us, 
mentally, of remissness in duty and selfish forget- 
fulness of the passage of time.” 

She made talk of the like pattern all the way 
through the orchard and the field I never crossed 
without recollecting another incident of the prize- 
fight afternoon. I scraped together enough 
scattered thoughts and words that fitted into 
them to relate to my companion how Cousin 
Molly Belle, she with my baby brother in her 
arms, and I clinging to her hand, had been 
chased clear across the field to the garden fence 


218 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


by a bloodthirsty sow that had tried to eat the 
baby. 

“ I opine that the wild boar in his native state 
had decidedly carnivorous proclivities,” Miss 
Marcia was saying when I interrupted her : — 
“ There is Marthy in the garden looking for 
somebody ! Can it be for us ? ” 



Chapter XI 

** More Anon ” 

‘'Daylight, and then the dark : 

Midnight, and then the morn ; 

And one bright star to mark 
Where thou hast gone.” 

— John Leighton Best. 

Marthy was looking for us, — at least for 
my companion. 

“ Mistis say, if you please, Miss Marshy, 
she’d like to see you ’s soon ’s you come in,” was 
the message, delivered with no haste. 

It was so little likely to alarm me that I 
stepped aside to pick a bit of citronaloes to take 
up to Marion, who had an especial liking for the 


219 


220 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


aromatic shrub. In pulling it I happened to see 
a look exchanged between the others. They 
quickened their gait, but I was upon them before 
they had taken five steps. I seized Marthy’s 
shoulder and turned her toward me. 

“What do you mean? You are hiding some- 
thing from me. Is she worse ? ” 

“ For the land’s sake, Miss Molly ! how sharp 
you take anybody up ! Mistis ain’t quite 
easy ’bout Miss Mar’on, and she want Miss 
Marshy — ” 

I heard no more. With all my speed — and 
I ran as fast as I could — Miss Marcia had hold 
of me at the bottom of the stairs. She was out 
of breath and as white as a sheet, but she had 
wit and discretion at hand. 

“Compose yourself! She must not be 
agitated ! ” 

By sheer force she made me stand still until I 
could breathe naturally, and did not let go of me 
until we were on the threshold of the sick room. 

My mother was there, and my father, and two 
colored maids, one upon each side of the bed, 
each with a large fan, trying to draw the sultry air 


More Anon 


221 


toward the fainting girl. My father’s arm was 
under her head, my mother was wetting the 
parted lips. The room reeked with sal volatile 
and brandy fumes. 

“ The change came on half an hour ago,” said 
my mother to Miss Marcia. “ We have sent for 
the doctor. Nothing brings up the pulse. It is 
hardly perceptible.” 

Marion lay like a broken lily — as purely pale, 
as limp, as unresponsive. 

The reader has foreseen all along what the end 
would be. To me it was a bolt out of the blue. 
With the impatient arrogance of youth and inex- 
perience, I insisted that she could not be so much 
worse as the others thought. Why, it was not 
four hours since we were all joking and laughing 
together about her bed and speculating as to 
whether or not she would be out of that bed in 
three or four days ! She had been so hopeful, so 
free from pain — so like her bonny, blithesome 
self! 

I pulled Miss Marcia away to the window, 
clutched both of her arms above the elbows, and 
almost shook her : — 


222 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


“ There must be something to be done besides 
your brandy and your mustard-plasters and hot 
foot-baths ! People don’t die so easily ! What 
has happened since three o’clock to change every- 
thing that you were so sure of then ? ” 

I said it in a fierce whisper, and I must have 
hurt her, for my nervous fingers pinched and 
kneaded her arms as pincers might. 

She answered in a low tone without wincing or 
offering to move : — 

“ I apprehend internal hemorrhage. I have 
read of such cases in medical treatises. I have 
known, personally, of two. The danger is immi- 
nent. What man can do we are trying to do. 
The issues of life and death are with the Al- 
mighty — not with us.” 

My grasp relaxed ; my hands fell dead. 

“You mean, then, there is no hope ? ” I uttered 
in a dull tone. A despondent shake of the head 
was all the answer I had. The kind eyes were 
full of tears the nurse would not let fall. 

I could not cry. The horrible clutch upon my 
heart was like a tourniquet above an artery, stop- 
ping the channel of tears. 


More Anon 


223 


“ Let me help you ! ” I said in the same lifeless 
way. “ Set me to work ! ” 

I was not needed. I may have been in their 
way, but my mother and she kept me busy as 
long as there was anything to do. I brought the 
doctor up when we heard his voice below ; I 
spread mustard and refilled hot-water bottles, and 
tore bandages, and took my turn at the fans, — 
silent and alert in a frozen calmness, and all the 
time I knew what was to be — perhaps in a few 
minutes, perhaps in a few hours. 

She lived until the new day began to dawn. 

At sunset she had said to my mother — “ I 
feel strange ! Am I going to faint ? ” 

From that moment she had given no sign of 
consciousness. When the sweet spirit passed 
away upon the last light breath, there was no 
struggle, no evidence of pain. 

“ We have much to be thankful for in know- 
ing that she did not suffer ! ” said my mother, 
breaking the silence of the long minute that fol- 
lows the awful monosyllable spoken but once 
above man that is born of woman and full of 
trouble. 


224 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


It was my father’s deep voice that had said, 
“ Gone ! ” 

Miss Marcia knelt to close the sightless eyes, 
then sank her face in the pillow, shaking with 
grief. 

As I passed him on my way to the door my 
father’s arm encircled me abruptly ; he held me 
to him for one mute second, pressing his lips to 
my forehead, then let me go. 

My dear, deep-hearted father ! whom some 
called cold and stern — who else ever knew me 
as you knew me ! 

He let me go, and nobody went with me to 
the chamber across the hall. The chamber I had 
left so gayly that afternoon for the walk with 
Miss Marcia ! I lighted a lamp, took it over to 
the writing-table, and opened my portfolio. Dick 
must be written to, and without delay. Not one 
of his relatives would consider this a duty. A 
few days hence, his mother, or one of his sisters, 
would speak among other items of neighborhood 
news of “ the sudden death of poor, dear Marion 
Cunningham.” I had promised to write every 
day while she was here. She was here still in a 


More Anon 


225 


sense — as much here as she would be anywhere 
on earth from this time forth and forevermore. 

The portfolio opened at the unfinished letter; 
I read the last sentence as if some one else had 
written it : — 

“ I shall finish this to-night (D. V.) or early in the 
morning. So — as Miss Marcia would say — c More 

I y yy 

anon ! 

Stupefied I sat, staring at the flippant phrases, 
embodying the solemn “ (D.V.) ” 

Deo volente ! If God wills ! 

He willed that I should keep my pledge to my 
absent cousin. 

What had come to pass in the room opposite 
had been likewise of His willing. Into my stupid 
misery trickled the echo of Miss Marcia’s mourn- 
ful monotone : — 

“Some day I may be able to say — ‘Never- 
theless, not my will, but Thine, be done ! ’ ” 

“ I shall never say it ! ” I uttered aloud and 
defiantly. “ Never ! Whether this is God’s work 
or the devil’s, it is murder — wanton murder ! 
Nothing less ! ” 

I picked up my pen. 


226 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


“ More anon ! ” Mechanically, I defined the 
old English word : “ Quickly ; soon ; by and by; 
presently ! ” 

How horribly soon ! with what damnable 
quickness ! and what a “ more ” ! I tore the page 
across, then into bits ; threw them into the waste- 
basket, and began another letter. While I had 
strength it must be done, and while I was alone. 

“ Dear Dick : — ” 

Ten minutes passed before another word was 
written. Heart and brain became more numb 
with each moment. Through the denseness 
gaining upon my senses like a fog, but one 
thought was defined : I ought to prepare Dick 
for the blow I was to deal. Ever since that 
black hour when invention travailed with that 
one thought, I have repudiated the theory — a 
dogma with the unwounded — that one should 
be delicately and dexterously cc prepared” for evil 
tidings. By so much as the certainty of loss is 
preferable to racking suspense, is the direct com- 
munication of the awful truth to be chosen in- 
stead of “ tactful ” approach to the harrowing 
revelation. 


More Anon 


227 


I had not worked out the problem at four- 
teen-and-a-half. Instinct, and not reason, moved 
me, at last, to write four lines instead of four 
pages : — 

“ Dear Dick : — Marion died unexpectedly and 
quietly at daybreak , half an hour ago. Before she 
grew worse she gave me a ring to keep for you , and 
sent you her dear love . The Lord have mercy upon 
us all! 

“ Molly r 

This was the “ More anon ! ” I had promised. 

I was sealing the letter when the clattering 
hoofs of horses ridden at the top of their speed 
broke the stillness of the summer dawn. A swift 
messenger had been despatched to Rhysdale as 
soon as the fatal change in the sick girl was 
apparent. The hurrying horsemen would be 
her brothers, both so much older than she that 
the pretty sister was their pet and plaything. I 
heard the halt at our gate, as impetuous as the 
gallop ; hasty steps upon the gravel walk and, 
without the pause of a second, upon the stair- 
case. My mother pushed open the door of the 


228 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


room in which I was sitting, not knowing I was 
there, and beckoned them in. 

“ Oh, my poor boys ! ” I heard her begin, and 
had one glance at the livid horror of each 
bronzed face. Then I slipped by them, un- 
observed, and fled out of hearing. 

Would Dick Carter’s face wear that look when 
he read those four lines ? The question ran with 
me and would not be distanced. 

Marion had never broken a promise to her 
old father. She went home on Friday ! We 
set out with her at three o’clock in the 
morning. 

Uncle Carter’s carriage had brought himself 
and my aunt, Cousin Burwell and his wife, to 
us early on the previous day ; four of the nearer 
neighbors drove over with their wives and 
daughters at the ghastly hour I have named. 
Seven carriages received their loads at our 
gate in silence and in gloom made lurid by 
the torches borne by negro attendants, and 
the twinkling lamps on the driver’s box of 
each carriage. A dozen gentlemen on horse- 
back brought up the rear of the procession. 


More Anon 


229 


Four others rode by the hearse, two on each 
side. 

A more eerie spectacle I shall never behold. 
We drove, without the sound of a human voice, 
down the avenue lined with catalpas, the blos- 
soms, as black now as the leaves, loading the 
motionless night air with their scent ; through 
the far plantation gate, held wide by two torch- 
bearers, and out into the highway deep in sand, 
the wheels crunching and hissing as they sank 
into it. 

I had never ridden in a funeral train before, 
and the continuous, hollow roll, unlike any other 
sound known to civilization, was a novel horror 
to my imagination. Through sand and over 
shale, interrupted though it was by ruts, and 
broken into thuds by “ corduroy ” and bridge, 
I never got away from the echoing rumble. It 
filled my ears, and it was to haunt my dreams for 
many a long night. At dawn we were winding 
through the heart of a pine wood, the rising 
breeze setting the boughs to moaning over our 
heads. Clearing the wood, we saw the moon, 
wasted and wan, through gaps in the oaks and 


230 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


hickories overarching the highway ; the smell of 
sheep mint, pennyroyal, wild sage, and thyme, 
crushed by the wheels, rose and fell in waves ; 
from the cavalcade in the rear we heard a low, 
intermittent murmur of men’s voices. 

There is not one feature and sound of the 
hour and scene which is not with me as I write 
of it. And through all and over all was that 
weird, solemn roll. 

It set itself to words by and by : — 
cf Man goeth to his long home , and the mourners 
go about the streets ,” — over and over and over, 
until I hardly restrained myself from beating time 
to the dirge. 

It was a ten-mile drive to Rhysdale. We 
entered the outer gate at seven o’clock. At 
nine, old family servants bore the coffin, swathed 
and heaped with flowers, down the main alley of 
the garden to the ancient God’s Acre, separated 
from it by a high box hedge. There was a 
prayer from the Presbyterian pastor, — a tedious, 
comprehensive prayer, — a funeral hymn, carried 
mainly by negro voices, rich, sonorous, and 
always plaintive. 


More Anon 


231 


Then — “ Dust to Dust ; Ashes to Ashes ! In 
the sure and certain hope of the resurrection of the 
Last Day , we commit the body of this> our sister , to 
the earth , in the name of the Father , the Son, and 
the Holy Ghost ; Amen! ” 

On the way back to the house, when, the 
formal order of the line broken, we straggled 
through the garden walks at our will, I struck 
into a side path. 

“ To get away from it all ! ” I said to myself, 
and that I had borne it as long as I could restrain 
the mad impulse to scream aloud my rebellion 
and my pain. 

I knew the little alley well, bounded by 
syringas on one side and altheas on the other, 
all overtopping my head. Marion and I had 
strolled up and down its length many a time, 
our arms interlocked. One day I had woven a 
crown of syringa blooms for her while we walked 
and talked. I might be able to think of her 
here without the hot bitterness that should, by 
now, have yielded to softer emotions. 

I was walking very slowly, my head down, 
and did not see my Aunt Janetta, Mrs. Carter, 


232 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


coming down the path, until she spoke my 
name. 

“ Flora said she saw you turn into this walk, 
Molly,” she said affectionately, “and I came 
back from the house to speak to you. I had a 
letter last night from Molly Belle. They are at 
the c White Sulphur/ and Mr. Morton’s health 
is greatly improved. She charged me to tell 
you, when I saw you, that the pair of ancient 
and honorable lovers you are so much interested 
in — my old friend, Barbara Allen, and Major 
Peachy — are there. Not together, of course” 
— laughing a little. “ Barbara looks out for 
the proprieties. They have friends there and 
did not travel in company. But they drink 
the water in concert three times a day — the 
Major, four glasses, Barbara one, and a half 
tumbler at that. You can think how Molly 
Belle would tell the story ! ” 

I was dumb. This was Dick Carter’s mother ! 
The girl we had left lying under the flowers back 
there was the dearest thing upon earth to him — 
now the dearest thing in heaven ! 

Aunt Janetta — my mother’s sister — was a 



“I WAS WALKING VERY SLOWLY, MY HEAD DOWN.” 





More Anon 


233 


tender-hearted woman. She could not have been 
her daughter’s mother and been wanting in feel- 
ing and tact. But she had seen many people die 
— I but one ; and Marion, although a lovely girl, 
was really not of her blood kindred. I was — 
and she would cheer me up. 

Her tone changed when I did not speak. She 
looked more attentively at me. 

“Forgive me, my dear! You would rather 
hear the rest at some other time. I know how 
sore young hearts are under such losses. You 
feel it the more keenly, too, because the dear girl 
died at your house. Dick will be grieved to hear 
of it. He is an affectionate boy, and he and 
Marion were great cronies. We must try to 
think how much happier she is now than we could 
have made her.” 

Still I neither spoke nor looked up. We were 
strolling away from the house, and she stopped, 
taking my limp hand in hers. 

“ Come and see me soon, won’t you, dear ? I 
know that Mr. Carter will be anxious to get 
home to dinner. It is a busy time on the plan- 
tation just now. I may give your love to Molly 


234 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


Belle when I write, I suppose ? And I wish you 
would write one of your bright, cheery letters to 
Dick sometime. You are an especial pet with 
him, and I am afraid he will be a little homesick 
among strangers.” 

“ I will,” I said impassively. “ To-morrow — 
maybe ! ” 



Chapter XII 

"The Phenomenon” 

“The languages, especially the dead. 

The sciences, and, most of all, th’ abstruse, 

The arts — at least, all such as could be said 
To be the most remote from common use — 

In all these she was much and deeply read.” 

— Don Juan. 

General NUNHAM’S name was to the 
Lady Superior's advertisement and annual re- 
ports what a stout whalebone is to an elegant 
corsage. 

“ Mrs. General Nunham ” was a stately head- 
ing to circulars and imposing upon visiting cards. 
The two elder of the four sisters were the 


235 


236 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


daughters of the General's former marriage. 
Madam had been heard to speak of the two 
younger as our “joint children.” A debilitated 
rumor gave the date of 1812 to the General's 
title. Another, as weak, said he had once been 
rich. The family had come to Richmond from 
Baltimore ten years before my story opens, with 
letters that gave them the entree of the best 
houses in town, and secured a full school for the 
first session. By sheer merit they held what they 
had thus gained. The General and Mrs. Nun- 
ham had their private dining room. The step- 
daughters and the joint children presided over 
the boarding-pupils’ table. 

Husband and wife appeared together in the 
schoolroom during morning prayers, five days in 
the week. Unless we chanced to encounter him 
in the halls or on the stairs we saw no more of 
him from week’s end to week’s end. 

Notable annual exceptions to this rule were 
made on the first day of each session (we say 
“ term ” now), and during the three days devoted 
to the final examination in July. He never spake 
a word then, but he carried out the whalebone 


The Phenomenon 


237 


metaphor to perfection. Tall, gaunt, and satur- 
nine of visage, he sat, as erect as a ramrod, and 
not more pliable, in the high-backed chair at the 
right hand of the Lady Superior, always wearing 
a body-coat, buttoned a third of the way up, 
very tight-waisted and very pigeon-breasted. The 
girls believed that his chest was padded, and that 
he wore stays. Some averred that they had heard 
them creak when he drew a long breath. His 
blue-black chin, closely shorn, rested level upon 
the edge of a military stock. When he walked, 
he marched ; when he turned, he wheeled ; when 
he stopped, he halted, suggesting <c Attention ! 
Right face ! ” and in rainy weather he carried an 
umbrella with the expression of shouldering arms. 

<c I suppose he has what might be called a 
martial carriage ? ” I had said, in my simplicity, 
to Cousin Molly Belle on the Monday we en- 
tered school, when I was going on eleven, and 
Mary ’Liza had entered her thirteenth year. 

Cousin Frank’s shout of laughter, and his 
wife’s appreciation of the fun, puzzled me then. 
Afterward, I came to share in their doubts as to 
whether the General had ever, as Cousin Frank 


238 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


phrased it, “ smelled a mixture of gunpowder and 
lead.” 

The session this year was reopened upon 
Monday, October 5, according to Mrs. Gen- 
eral Nunham’s card in the daily secular and 
the weekly religious newspapers. Before we 
were fairly settled in our chairs behind our desks 
a whisper flew, like thistledown before a stiff 
breeze, from one end of the large general room 
to the other : — 

“ The Generalissimo ” had a new coat ! Of 
what a rattle-pate behind me called “ handy- 
spandy broadcloth.” A body-coat, of course 
(in modern lingo a <c swallow-tail ”), fitted with 
exactitude that almost — some said, quite — re- 
vealed the outline of the ramrod. One and all 
of us had inspected and passed judgment upon 
it by the time he had marched to the head of the 
apartment, wheeled, stood at attention for twenty 
seconds, then bent himself from the perpendicular. 

“ Into a hollow square ! ” said the rattle-pate 
in my ear, and my risibles got the better of 
propriety. 

“ Old Miss ” had made her conventional little 


The Phenomenon 


2 39 


address of welcome, and hoped for the usual 
impossible results from our “ auspicious reunion,’* 
and we were requested to open our Bibles at 
the first chapter of the Book of Proverbs, before 
it was quite safe for me to lower the palm-leaf 
fan I had caught up hastily from my desk to 
screen my face. The Bible reading sobered me 
somewhat, yet not so thoroughly that I did not 
remark, for the hundredth time, that General 
Nunham wheeled upon his heels and remained 
standing with his face to the wall, still in the 
“ attention ” attitude, while everybody else in 
the room knelt in prayer. 

As soon as “ Amen ! ” was said, he wheeled and 
marched out again, elbows squared, and knees tied 
at regulation distance by an invisible cord. In 
the door he wheeled about face, and actually 
gave the military salute ! Mrs. Nunham sank 
almost to the floor in a courtesy copied in unison 
by her daughters, and the figure-head disappeared 
for twenty-four hours. 

The wicked whisperer — whose daughter, by 
the way, is writing mighty clever books anent 
Old Virginia life — gave the clew to this latest and, 


240 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


to the uninitiated, amazing exhibition of Military 
Deportment by circulating the story in recess 
that the Nunham Sextette had spent a week of 
their vacation at West Point. 

“He is billed to advance and give the counter- 
sign next Monday,” she subjoined, knowingly. 

“ Young ladies ! ” uttered the Principal, from 
her chair upon the dais at the top of the room : 
“ According to the custom of this Seminary, each 
pupil entered for the session is requested to come 
forward and affix her signature to the rules and 
regulations governing deportment and morals 
while she retains her connection with this institu- 
tion. As each of you has been provided with 
a printed copy of these rules and regulations, 
we take it for granted that you are already 
familiar with that to which you are to give 
assent.” 

She always said these identical words. I never 
heard them without recollecting the embarrass- 
ment of a little country girl who whispered dis- 
tressfully to me, on her way up to the table, that 
she “ hadn’t brought any money with her to 
school that morning. Would I lend her a cent?” 


“ The Phenomenon ” 241 

She had interpreted the concluding words ac- 
cording to sound, not meaning. 

We filed up to the table in the order of our 
sittings. My desk — the same I had used for 
two preceding sessions — being near the upper 
end of the room, my cousin and I were among 
the first to “ affix our signatures/’ I was idly 
awaiting the end of the, to me, unimportant cere- 
mony, my elbow on the desk, my chin in my 
hollowed palm, thinking of nothing and looking 
at nobody in particular, when a head and a pair 
of shoulders grew into view above the moving 
crowd of girls. 

<c A daughter of Anak ! ” quoth my saucy 
neighbor, and Mary ’Liza and I turned upon 
one another looks of astonishment not to be 
conveyed in words. 

Miss Marcia Snead, looking taller and thinner 
because of her mourning dress, worn for the 
father of whose death from apoplexy we had 
heard six weeks before, awaited her turn to sign 
“ the articles of agreement.” Thus she alluded 
to them afterward. 

Her bony fingers twisted upon one another 


242 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


nervously ; her bearing indicated distressing em- 
barrassment. Yet — and I do not know if I 
can describe this aright — in mien and in face, 
beyond and far above the diffidence of one new 
to the scene and circumstances, shone a sort of 
solemn exaltation. She looked like one who saw 
the goal in sight and the possibility of gaining it. 

Presuming upon the lax regulations governing 
the school on opening day, I jumped up and 
threaded the jostling throng to Miss Marcia’s 
side. The relief and pleasure that broke the 
constrained half smile she had worn for the occa- 
sion into a look of natural delight, would have 
repaid me had I been less sure of indulgence from 
the ruling powers. 

I pulled her a little away from the rest, re- 
gardless of the stares and covert smiles of those 
about me. 

“ What are you doing here?” I asked, bluntly, 
too much surprised for formalities. 

She told me, in well-chosen phraseology. 
Here, if anywhere, it behooved one to air one’s 
best language. With the sanction of her mother, 
and the hearty approbation of her brothers and 


The Phenomenon 


243 


sisters, she had enrolled herself as a student 
in Mrs. General Nunham’s admirable Seminary. 
Meanwhile, her mother, to whom everything 
was left unconditionally during her life-time, 
had generously advanced what ready money was 
requisite, to be reimbursed at some future day. 

“The path has been made very smooth for 
my feet, ,, concluded Miss Marcia, intense feel- 
ing simplifying- her ornate speech. “ Sometime 
you will let me tell you of the wonderful provi- 
dences that have starred the past six weeks. 
God has hearkened unto the voice of my cry ! ” 

“ It is your turn, now ! ” I interrupted, not 
sorry that I did not have to frame a suitable 
reply. 

I went with her to the table and stood by her 
while she curved her exaggerated spine to reach 
pen and paper. Mrs. Nunham glanced inter- 
rogatively at me from the book where the lean 
fingers were inscribing in minute, vertical char- 
acters, “ Marcia Alban Snead.” I nodded, re- 
assuringly — I am afraid, patronizingly — and 
the Lady Superior, a thoroughbred at heart, held 
out her hand, soft, white, and bejewelled : — 


244 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


“ I hope you will be very happy with us, 
Miss Snead. I think we have no other young 
lady of the same name with us this year, although 
it is not an uncommon name in Richmond. 
You are, perhaps, a relative of Dr. Snead of 
our city ? ” 

Miss Marcia blushed magenta in her happy 
surprise. Her courtesy was something to be 
recollected. It was not imitable. 

“ I am not aware that we are allied by con- 
sanguinity, or by marriage,” she said. “ Our 
patronymic, was, I opine, originally Sneyd — 
S-n-e-y-d. The name possesses romantic inter- 
est for those conversant with the history of the 
accomplished and ill-fated Major Andre. Pray 
accept my grateful acknowledgments for the 
cordial welcome you have vouchsafed to one so 
unworthy as myself. I humbly trust time will 
prove for me that your generous confidence is 
not misplaced.” 

She executed a second indescribable courtesy, 
and, backing away from the table, as from the 
presence of royalty, Miss Marcia perceived that 
she was the focus of seventy or eighty pairs of 


The Phenomenon 


245 


eyes, all wide with wonder, some dancing in 
mirth hardly repressed. 

She tittered ! I am sorry to acknowledge it 
after recording her stilted inaugural and cere- 
monious retreat. There is no other word for 
the sound accompanying the return of the em- 
barrassed half smile. 

“ Rather a tall schoolgirl — am I not ? ” 

To the shame of themselves and their parents, 
be it said, some of the girls laughed. Mrs. 
Nunham’s ruler rapped sharply upon the table : — 
“Order! Young ladies! I am astonished 
and mortified ! Those who have signed the 
rules will please resume their seats ! ” 

Annie Gleason, the fun-loving girl who sat 
behind me, gave me a pinch as I resumed my 
chair. It signified inquiry, relish of the comic 
side of the scene, and approval of my indorse- 
ment of my country neighbor. Annie and I 
were always good friends. When it was safe to 
“ communicate,” she had her explanatory whisper : 
“ You’re a trump ! She’s a Phenomenon ! ” 
Annie was the sobriquet-maker, par 'eminence , 
of the school. The nickname, tossed carelessly 


246 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


at the new scholar, fell squarely upon her brows 
and was fastened there by the examination of 
the new pupils before classing them, the most 
important event of Opening Day. Fifteen 
“ new ” girls had been entered that forenoon. 
They were ranged in a semicircle about the 
desk of the Lady Superior, and subjected to a 
brief general examination from her ; to a longer 
and more searching from Miss Isabella and Miss 
Serena. Miss Marcia’s diffidence vanished as 
she set her foot upon dear and familiar soil. 
Her thick, sallow skin paled and flushed by 
turns, as she was catechised and made answer. 
Ten minutes of the ordeal had not passed before 
curious contempt gave place to bewilderment 
in the countenances of spectators and auditors. 
As the examination proceeded the catechists 
became respectful, and even deferential. Still- 
ness, that was almost awe, reigned throughout 
the schoolroom. Sublimely unconscious of the 
impression she produced, the “ neophyte in 
scholastic lore ” — as she spoke of herself when 
complimented by Mrs. Nunham upon her pro- 
ficiency — sat upright and rapt, her eyes riveted 


“ The Phenomenon ” 247 

upon the teacher, replying with modest self- 
possession, and with invariable correctness, to 
every question. Her phraseology was Addiso- 
nian in dignity and purity of diction ; she often 
quoted whole sentences from this or that writer 
upon mental and moral philosophy, rhetoric, 
history, astronomy, and the higher mathematics. 

When the new pupils were remanded to their 
seats, an open Bible was thrust under my elbow 
from behind. Annie Gleason had stuck a pin 
into the first clause of Psalm 119:99: — 

“ I have more understanding than all my teachers .” 

From that day and hour, then. Miss Marcia 
Snead was “ Phenomenon ” in the mouths of 
her fellow-students. The least respectful of the 
madcaps shortened it to “ Phee,” and did not 
scruple to address her by the abbreviation, an 
indignity to which she submitted amiably. She 
was the least conceited person I have ever known, 
and her persistent belief in the superiority of 
the stupidest of her associates to herself because 
they had been “ instructed,” and she had not, 
would have been ridiculous but for the profound 
humility as to her own attainments and propor- 


248 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


tionable reverence for learning and the learned, 
of which the perverse misconception was a proof. 

Her most hardly won victory was over Ma- 
nesca and M. Guillaume. She read French by 
the eye as easily as she read English, even writ- 
ing it with tolerable accuracy in her un-idioma- 
tic style, as might be expected from one who 
had never heard the language spoken. Tossed 
into the foaming rapids of Manescan question 
and reply ; swimming, while the master shouted 
furious gibberish from the shore — she was out 
of her depth at the first stroke, and the waters 
went over her head. Her exercises saved her 
from drowning. They were flawless, and as 
legible in her vertical script as a printed page. 
When M. Guillaume bade her, as an imposition 
for an imperfect recitation, transcribe before the 
next “ French day,” forty-eight hours off, twenty 
of the diabolical “ interrogatif et negatif ” exer- 
cises, copying the queries and composing the 
answers, he did it with a fiendish grin, assured, 
I am convinced, that he had, by the barbarous 
exaction, rid himself, finally, of a woman who 
gave him “ des nerfs .” Her homely face and 


“ The Phenomenon ” 249 

form, her ill-assured manner and her timidity, 
were a continual offence in his eyes. 

All the sense of justice in him, and what modi- 
cum of chivalry remained in his French nature 
after twenty years of teaching, were aroused when 
the Phenomenon, haggard with overwork and 
tremulous with anxiety, laid an orderly sheaf of 
papers before him and backed respectfully to her 
seat, leaving her fate in his hands. 

He praised her work frankly — and well the 
frankness became him — tiger as he was! He 
pronounced it ^ par fait ement bien faitf and the 
industry displayed in the accomplishment of the 
task, cc magnifique .” He called the attention of 
sundry slovenly penwomen in the class to the 
fact, “ vraiment etonnantf that, where a mistake 
had been made, were it only in one letter, a 
penknife was used to erase it, and the right 
word or letter was written in so neatly that only 
a keen eye could detect signs of the erasure. 
Finally he told, in English, an anecdote of a 
so-called Professor of French who engaged to 
teach the language entirely by the eye and by 
means of the pen. 


250 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


cc Vidout speaking one word ! Mademoiselle 
Snade may have graduate in his school ! She 
does him much craydeet ! ” 

He found no fault with her henceforward, and 
took occasion repeatedly to commend her ad- 
mirable work, holding her up to the rest of us 
as an example of tireless energy and what he 
extolled as cc sublime conscientiousness.” 

All the happiness — I might say all the comfort 
— she got out of her new life was found in the 
schoolroom and during study hours in the hall 
bedroom she occupied in a fourth-rate boarding- 
house on a cross street down-town. The place 
had been recommended to her as cheap and 
respectable, and ready money was not abundant 
with her at this juncture. Had Mrs. Nunham 
been able to accommodate her as a boarding 
pupil, acceptance of the position would have 
been an impossibility because of lack of means. 

One gusty Friday afternoon in November I 
went out of my way to call upon her as I was 
going to take supper with Miss Barbara Allen. 
I did not visit my fellow-countywoman often. 
I was very busy, and had other friends nearer 


The Phenomenon 


251 


my own age and with more congenial tastes. 
To be as candid with my reader as I was with 
Cousin Molly Belle, on this very Friday, moral 
courage was required to enable one to invite the 
Phenomenon to walk. Walking was my chief 
recreation out of school hours. Exercise and 
fresh air were then, as they have been ever since, 
solace and tonic to me. 

cc She is so long, and so lean, and so black, 
and so odd-looking altogether, that people stare 
at us/’ I confessed. “ I am sorry for her, and 
I respect her, and admire her in a way, of course, 
but she is phenomenal, you know ! ” 

“ I know ! ” Cousin Molly’s eyes were grave 
and sweet, with the clear, far-off look which 
meant she was thinking hard. “ I must take 
her to drive oftener, and ask her to dinner and 
supper every Sunday, instead of every other 
week, as I have been doing. She is odd- 
looking, as you say. But she is a heroine ! 
I can never forget what you told me of 
her goodness when Marion Cunningham was 
ill.” And, after a pause neither too long, nor 
too significant — “ If you are going out, wrap 


252 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


up warmly, dear. The wind is very cold and 

high.” 

Was there ever such another woman for 
touching the right chord, and for never striking 
it too strongly ? 



Chapter XIII 

My Lady Bountiful 

** Your bounty is beyond my speaking ; 

But ’though my mouth be dumb, my heart shall thank you.” 

— Nicholas Rowe. 

YOU hardly expected to see me so early ? ” 
said I to Miss Barbara, bustling into her sitting 
room half an hour before the early sunset. 

“ On the contrary, I began to be afraid that 
the threatening weather was keeping you from 
coming at all ! ” 

She got up from where she sat alone before a 
noble fire of soft coal, and came forward in her 
cordial way to help me off with my bonnet and 


253 


254 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


pelisse. Miss Barbara was not given to kissing 
and fussing, even over those she loved best. 
But her touch and the ring of sincerity in her 
voice meant more to me than a volume of love 
words and showers of kisses from some other 
people. I knew she liked me, and I was very 
fond of her. Just now my heart and head were 
full of something I was sure would interest her, 
— perplexity, out of which I felt vaguely that 
she could help me, at least partially. 

She seated me in a warm corner, pushed a 
stool under my feet, asked after the welfare and 
doings of her especial friends the Mortons, and 
how matters were progressing at the Nunnery. 
She was never above using our catchwords and 
nicknames. Then, all unwittingly, she led up to 
the very matter I was burning to lay before her. 

“ By the way, I saw your Phenomenon yester- 
day on Broad Street. I recognized her imme- 
diately, although I have met her but once — and 
that for a minute, as she was coming out of Mrs. 
Morton’s parlor and I was going in.” 

“ Once seen, never forgotten ! ” said I, pithily. 

“ Right ! And if I had never seen her, I think 


My Lady Bountiful 


255 


I should have known her from your description. 
She reminded me of a pair of long-waisted tongs 
draped in bombazine, as she stood outside of 
Samanni’s window, her shawl wound tightly 
about her. The wind whipped her skirts about 
her legs, and one hand held her crape veil down 
to keep her bonnet on. Her long nose made a 
bump in the middle of the veil. Otherwise, I 
should not have known on which side her face 
was. I was glad she was staring into a confec- 
tioner’s window, and not into a bookseller’s. In 
that case I should have been sorry for her. She 
looked so hungry, all over , somehow ! After what 
I had heard of her appetite for books, I should 
have been tempted to rush in and buy out the 
windowful if she had been staring at them.” 

“ I think she was hungry ! ” I blurted out, 
and plunged into the recital of how, calling at 
Miss Marcia’s boarding-house, an hour or so 
ago, and seeing from the hall the parlor filled 
with loud-voiced women and smoking men, I 
had told the dirty maid who let me in to show 
me up to Miss Snead’s room. 

“ It was at the very top of the house, and at 


256 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


the back. There was no carpet on the floor, 
and very little furniture. Only a bed and a wash- 
stand, and a pine writing-table drawn up close to 
the window, and one chair and Miss Marcia’s 
trunk, with a shawl thrown over it to make 
another seat. Her dresses were hung against 
the wall on one side of the room, under a calico 
curtain to keep off the dust. You never saw a 
shabbier place out of a poor-house. Everything 
was as neat as wax, though. Even the window- 
panes were clean and bright. Miss Marcia had 
on a frightful red-and-green blanket shawl, and 
her head was tied up in a worsted hood, and she 
wore woollen mittens. For there was not a 
spark of fire in the mean little hole, nor any 
place in which a fire could be made — no 
chimney and no stove. She was sitting at the 
table with her books piled up all about her, and 
as soon as she got over her flurry at the sight 
of me, she insisted I should take her chair. 
She c liked to curl up her limbs luxuriously 
upon the bed. It reminded her of an Oriental 
divan.’ When I took the chair, she would put 
a foot-stove under my feet. 


My Lady Bountiful 


2.5 7 


“ c That’s another Oriental luxury ! ’ she said, 
as gayly as could be. ‘Travellers who have 
visited Italy tell us of old cronies hobbling into 
cathedrals, carrying earthen or metal vessels — 
“ scaldini ” — in the plural — c< scaldino ” in the 
singular — filled with hot ashes or ignited char- 
coal, and that ladies of quality, attending church 
in winter, are followed by footmen carrying 
similar vessels of finer materials and workman- 
ship.’ 

“ c Charcoal ! ’ I said, c isn’t that dangerous in 
a close room ? ’ 

“ ‘ Not if proper precautions are taken. I leave 
the window open until the coals are fairly kindled, 
by which time the noxious gases are expelled 
from the carbonaceous fuel.’ Doesn’t that sound 
just like her ? But oh. Miss Barbara ! she 
looked so forlorn and frozen and famished ! She 
always had what you may call creature comforts 
at home — plenty to eat, and warm, comfortable 
rooms to live and work in. She will kill herself 
at this rate before the winter is out. And she 
will die without a groan ! She never uttered a 
complaint to-day, and was, as usual, full of talk 


258 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


about our studies, and praises of the teachers — 
and saying what a privilege it is to live in an 
intellectual atmosphere ! Yet I wish I could help 
her in some way ! ” 

Miss Barbara pushed back her chair and began 
walking up and down the room, her hands behind 
her, her head bent. 

“Tut! tut! tut!” came from between her 
teeth several times while I was speaking. When 
I stopped to take breath, she said : — 

“ c And Jonah was exceeding glad of the gourd! * 
Exceeding glad ! Poor, mean, selfish, comfort- 
able wretch ! And this is Christian Virginia ! 
This is hospitable Richmond ! I, and hundreds 
of other lazy blockheads, sit in the shade of the 
booths we have builded, and which gourds of the 
Lord’s growing have covered — and see these 
things. Your Phenomenon’s little finger is worth 
more in His sight than twenty-five of our corn-fed 
bodies with no souls inside to speak of! Great 
Heavens ! If I were a man, I’d — swear ! ” 
Working off some of the steam in these and 
other jerky ejaculations, she returned to the fire 
and hit it with the poker. It did not need atten- 


My Lady Bountiful 


259 


tion and resented the indignity by a splutter of 
blue-and-yellow flames hissed angrily from the 
fat, black lumps. 

“ Yes ! and here am I, with coal to waste and 
a big house full of furniture, and time on my 
hands, and cupboards and store rooms crammed 
with victuals of all sorts, and servants at my 
beck and call, and horses in the stable, eating 
their pesky heads off. And that woman ! — all 
brain and energy and high ambitions and noble 
aims — starving and freezing at my gates ! Good 
Lord ! haven’t you any thunderbolts to spare up 
there, that I live to tell the tale ! ” 

The hands she had lifted above her head fell 
to her knees in a resounding slap. 

“ That’s a pretty fair imitation of swearing ! ” 
said I, dryly. “ I don’t think you need the 
man.” 

“ If one were here, he’d as like as not tell me 
that I am a fool for what I’ve made up my mind 
to do. Maybe he’d be right. I don’t care a 
copper cent for his opinion. I’m going to make 
that woman come here and live l I shall invite 
her to make me a visit of a month or two, and 


260 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


when I have her here. I’ll manage to keep her by 
hook or by crook.” 

cc She’s mighty independent — I demurred. 
“ If there were something she could do for you, 
she might be persuaded. Sewing, or knitting, at 
night — or something like that. There’s nothing 
she can’t do ! ” 

She slapped her knees again. 

“ Child ! you’re a genius ! The woman that 
has been knitting Maj’ Peachy’s stockings for 
twenty years died last week. He won’t wear 
socks, you know, on account of his rheumatism. 
He’s a great sufferer, for all he never complains. 
He wears long stockings that come above the 
knee — lamb’s wool in winter, thread and silk in 
summer,” laughing in affectionate amusement. 
“ He’s a bit of a dandy in some things, the Maj’ 
is, although I wouldn’t let him know I think so. 
Well! this poor soul — a lady born and bred, 
although poor for years and years as Job’s turkey- 
hen — almost supported herself by knitting those 
everlasting stockings. He uses up dozens of 
them every year. I was wondering this very 
evening, sitting here and looking into the fire, 


My Lady Bountiful 


261 


where upon earth I could find somebody else to 
do the work. 

“ Yet there are people — respectable Presby- 
terians at that — who don’t believe in particular 
providences ! You are one to-day, and no mis- 
take, Mousie ! ” 

In the delight of recognizing me in my true 
character, she leaned over and gave me a kiss. 

I caught her hand and hugged it. 

“ Dear Miss Barbara ! You are the particular 
providence whenever you can make a chance to 
help anybody. And you never did a kinder 
thing than you are going to do now. Miss 
Marcia is so simple-hearted that she will believe 
everything you tell her about the stockings. I 
can see her now, sitting up until all hours to turn 
off* a toe, and knitting c M. P.’ into the tops, 
fully persuaded that she is paying for her board.” 

We both laughed and fell to talking over the 
preliminaries of the proposed “visit” — what 
room the Phenomenon (we must stop calling 
her that, for fear our tongues might slip some- 
times when she was by ! ) should have, and how 
she should be fed with the finest of the wheat 


262 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


and the fat of lambs, and sleep upon a feather- 
bed so wide that she could “ caty-corner ” across, 
and find room for the full length of limbs and 
trunk — and how we would never call her “ Miss 
Marshy.” I had a reminiscence here : — 

“ She told me one day in confidence that one 
reason she was so fond of Mrs. Cunningham and 
my mother was that they called her c Marcia/ 
c Whereas nearly everybody else, even people 
of education and general refinement, address me 
as <c Marshy,” * she said. c I hope I am not vain, 
or unduly punctilious ! But it awakens un- 
pleasant sensations in my imagination when I am 
confounded with a morass ! 9 ” 

My spirits were in a bubbling flow. It was 
such a noble thing Miss Barbara was doing, and 
I was so happy in the knowledge that I had 
helped bring about the change in Miss Marcia’s 
condition, so full of visions of her altered future 
that it took very little to make me laugh a great 
deal. Miss Barbara was almost as much excited 
and as eager to see the fulfilment of our scheme 
as was I. 

w My duty is as clear and as straight as the 


My Lady Bountiful 


263 


Manchester turnpike,” declared she. “ If I can’t 
yank a candle out of the wrong socket, the next 
best thing is to scrub the candlestick as bright as 
I can. I shall go to see her early to-morrow 
morning — directly after breakfast — and make 
her pack her trunk to be sent for, as well as her- 
self, by dinner-time. I never let grass sprout, 
much less grow, under my feet. The Maj’ says 
that is because I am a c hot foot.’ He makes 
himself very merry over my headlong ways. But 
I tell him I was born with warm, real , red blood 
in my veins, and not skim-milk. Between our- 
selves, he doesn’t admire these whey-faced, yea- 
nay women any more than you and I do, but he 
must have his joke, — especially a joke on me.” 

I had promised to stay to supper upon con- 
dition that I should be allowed to go home 
directly afterward. There were lessons to be 
studied before bed-time, if I would not be tied 
down to them all of Saturday. 

“ Lessons, in this case, mean fearfully long 
exercises for M. Guillaume,” I interpolated. 
“ Black Monday is the blacker because it is 
French day. Miss Marcia was deep in work for 


264 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


him this afternoon. Manesca lay open on the 
table. I told you, didn’t I, how she fought, bled, 
and all but died, in her earliest encounters with 
him ? ” 

“ He’s a brute ! ” said Miss Barbara. “ A 
Frenchman is a cross between monkey and tiger. 
The tiger preponderates in Guillaume. Some- 
time, when the Maj’ is in a talkative mood — 
that is, when rheumatism and dyspepsia are off 
guard — you must make him tell you of a wordy 
battle he and Monsieur Le Tigre had several years 
ago. I won’t spoil the story trying to tell it. 
As might have been anticipated, the Frenchman 
was left hors du combat .” 

We had our supper laid in the cosey sitting 
room. There was not a trait of the conventional 
old maid about Miss Barbara. Her meals were, 
as she said, “ like Easter, movable feasts.” She 
partook of them wherever it pleased her. To- 
night, the sitting-room fire was “ too good to 
leave.” The round table for two was set in 
front of it. Such a supper as it was ! And in 
what merry mood was it eaten ! And what a 
glorious thing it was to have a fine old house 


My Lady Bountiful 


265 


and an abundance of worldly wealth with which 
to make a home for the needy, and good cheer 
for all who came within the owner’s influence ! 

Often as I had been in that room before, and 
frequent as were to be my visits in the future, I 
always recollect it as I saw it on that, the first 
inclement night of the season. Crimson damask 
draperies were looped away from lace curtains 
that hung straight before the embrasured win- 
dows ; the walls were wainscoted with oak up to 
the ceiling, which was a fine specimen of the 
fretted “ putty work ” of the eighteenth century ; 
the furniture was solid mahogany, and so antique 
that the lights reflected from it brought up ruddy 
glints from dusky depths far below the polished 
surface. A tall pier-glass between two windows 
gave back the gleam of fire and candles ; the car- 
pet was crimson like the curtains ; a great, white 
wolfskin lay before the fire-place. Shining brass 
fender, brass andirons, and fire irons caught and 
repeated the high lights. Bookcases, filled with 
books, and family portraits relieved the wain- 
scoted spaces from blankness. 

This was the room — and the mistress was just 


266 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


what the maker and the builder of such a home 
should be. She wore a shimmering gray silk 
that night, trimmed with black lace ; a dainty 
lace cap, trimmed with white satin ribbon, was set 
above her silver-gray hair ; she carried herself as 
queens should, but as they seldom do. 

“ If I could hope to look just exactly like you 
when I am your age, I should be perfectly satis- 
fied ! ” I cried, impulsively, possessing myself of 
one of her hands — high-bred like the rest of her 
— and kissing it again and again. 

She patted my cheek : — 

“ Nonsense, Mousie ! I am a battered old 
hulk in dry dock ! ” 

But she looked pleased, and I could not help 
recollecting that the Major would be there pretty 
soon, and that she would care to look well in his 
eyes. 

She sent me home in her carriage. Rain had 
set in at nightfall ; and the cobblestone pave- 
ments and brick sidewalks were shining with wet. 
As we drove along, I, gazing from the snug 
security of the chariot upon pedestrians with 
and without umbrellas, saw something that 


My Lady Bountiful 


267 


made me smile, and something that made me 
frown. 

The Generalissimo, enveloped in a cloak of 
military cut, one end thrown jauntily over his 
shoulder, emerged from the back gate which, six 
months agone, I had seen Leonard Brooks close 
to hide his parting with Sidney Page. Holding 
his umbrella perpendicularly over his head, he 
marched down the street, in the exact middle of 
the sidewalk, looking neither to the right nor to 
the left. 

“ So he uses the servants’ gate on week-day 
nights ! ” I mused with curling lip. “ What a 
disgrace to a man, made in the image of his 
Maker, to be a nonentity in his wife’s eyes ! The 
Lady Superior makes the most of her cipher 
upon exhibition days, but he is a cipher for all 
that ! ” 

At the corner below the Nunnery, Major 
Peachy was scraping the mud from his boots 
upon the edge of the curbstone after a miry 
crossing. The man was one of my pet aver- 
sions. Seeing the slow scrape on the stone, 
when another man would have stamped twice 


268 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


to dislodge the mud, then tramped on — I dis- 
liked him more than ever. The loose folds of 
his pantaloons about the shrunken calves put 
another idea into my head. How would Miss 
Marcia relish the task of knitting stockings eigh- 
teen inches long in the leg for that apology for 
the male of the human species ? 

I asked Cousin Molly the question when I 
had finished the stirring narrative of the after- 
noon call to Miss Marcia, and my subsequent 
visit to Miss Barbara. 

She foresaw no trouble. Miss Marcia would 
beg for work of some kind ; her hostess would 
speak of the death of the knitter and the Major’s 
rheumatism. 

“ Voild tout ! We may trust Miss Barbara for 
the rest.” 

I felt that we could. 

“ But — doesn’t it rather go against the grain 
with you to think of that brave — ” 

“Phenomenon!” supplied Cousin Molly Belle. 

“ Heroine ! devoting hours and hours to fash- 
ioning coverings for those old — tobacco-sticks!” 

Cousin Molly Belle laughed. 


My Lady Bountiful 


269 


“ If I must speak my mind, Molly, it goes 
much harder with me to think how another 
woman — quite as much of a heroine in her way 
— believes in and looks up to the man to whom 
the tobacco-sticks belong. It is an unsolvable 
mystery. We must be very careful not to 
hint anything of this to Marcia, should she 
accept Miss Barbara's invitation. It is better 
that she should rate him at his sister-in-law’s 
valuation.” 

Saturday noon I had a note from Miss 
Barbara. 

“ Vent ! vidi ! vici ! I have met the Phenom- 
enon and she is mine ! B. A.” 

On Sunday, Miss Marcia came to dinner, I 
having conveyed to her Cousin Molly Belle’s 
invitation on Saturday. 

“ The most incredible thing has happened 
that has ever deflected the even tenor of my 
way ! ” she began before she could lay off her 
bonnet. 

We let her tell us of it in her own way, listen- 
ing as if it were all news to us. Miss Barbara 
had played her cards well. Without mentioning 


270 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


my call to my county neighbor and my visit to 
herself, she had contrived to make her own call 
upon Miss Snead a simple, natural affair. She 
had asked Mrs. Morton who she was, after the 
accidental meeting in the parlor of the latter. 
Further inquiry made her suspect that she 
had known Mrs. Snead when they were girls 
together. 

Then she went on to remark in the most 
friendly way : cc c That dear, mischievous minx 
of a Molly Burwell says I must have known 
every girl worth knowing in Virginia when I was 
young, — and forgotten none of them. Your 
mother was Marcia Bland — wasn't she?' 

“ I quote literally," cried the narrator, the long 
nose reddening with the emotion that drove 
water into her eyes. cc I assure you, Molly, 
that nothing could have been more affectionate 
than her manner of speaking of you, equivocal 
though the words may sound in the recapitula- 
tion. And the mention of my dear mother's 
maiden name quite unmanned me ! " 

The advantage gained was acted upon cun- 
ningly. Saturday night saw Miss Marcia and 


My Lady Bountiful 


271 


her trunk securely settled in a chamber adjoining 
Miss Barbara's own. 

“ A spacious chamber, dear Mrs. Morton, and 
supplied with every conceivable comfort ! ” re- 
lated the guest, making furtive dabs with her 
handkerchief at the now brimming eyes. “ Imag- 
ine an escritoire with drawers and pigeonholes ; 
a noble bronze inkstand, filled with ink, upon it, 
a ream of writing-paper, and pens laid ready for 
use ! My generous benefactress had even be- 
thought herself to have it placed so that the 
light would fall over my left shoulder. And 
shelves in readiness for my little store of books ! 
A superb mahogany wardrobe for my dresses. 
A handsome bureau — all the drawers empty — 
for my underwear. And a bed — ” laughing 
with a suspicion of hysterics in broken respiration 
and falsetto notes in her voice. “ You must con- 
template it one day, Molly ! Miss Allen says 
her brother-in-law, Major Peachy, maintains that 
it was built for Og, king of Bashan. It is an 
heirloom with a history. It has belonged in the 
Allen family for untold generations. 

“ Sleep forsook my eyelids that night until the 


272 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


small hours were far advanced. When it finally 
overtook me, it was such slumber as visited the 
Pilgrims in the Delectable Mountains.” 

“ Do you suppose,” said I, thoughtfully, to 
my cousin when our visitor had gone back to her 
Delectable Mountains, “ that our blessed, incom- 
parable woman has made up the things that 
starched puppet of a brother-in-law ought to say 
if he were fit to black her shoes, until she really 
believes she is quoting him, instead of repeating 
her own bon mots ? ” 

uc To make you idols, and to find them 
clay/ ” repeated Cousin Molly Belle. “ The 
second part of the curse has not come to pass. 
Let us hope it never will. I would rather see a 
good woman happy in a delusion than bewailing 
the worship of years.” 

Before I went to bed, I curled myself up on 
the rug before my chamber fire and held long 
converse with Mr. Frederic Sedley. If I have 
said nothing of him for many pages past, it is not 
because he was not dearer to me than ever. 
Sorrow — my first real sorrow — had knit our 
hearts more closely together. I no longer 


My Lady Bountiful 


273 


addressed him as “ Mr. Sedley,” after the man- 
ner of Sarah of old, “ calling him lord,” an 
example dutifully imitated by the Virginia gen- 
tlewoman of the day. He was “ Frederic,” 
and <c my Frederic,” and, occasionally, under the 
pressure of tremendous emotions — <c Darling ! ” 

I often said to him and to myself that I could 
not have borne Marion's death and the thought 
of Dick's desolation but for my Frederic's sym- 
pathy. I made believe to-night that he was in 
the chair beside me — drawn up to the right spot 
and at the proper angle for that express purpose. 
Then I sat me down upon the rug, and fancied 
that the head laid upon the unresponsive cush- 
ioned seat, rested against his knee, while I poured 
out my soul without reserve and without misgiv- 
ing. He was never bored by the extravagance 
of my grief, never contemptuous of the exuber- 
ance of my joy. 

Oh, my dream lover ! for so long my good 
genius in the Border Land, where the brook 
and river meet ! There is no disloyalty to other 
and later friends in the thought which flies back- 
ward whenever I sing : — 


274 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


“ Over my heart in the years that have flown. 

No love like early love ever has shone ; 

No other worship abides and endures 
Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours .* ’ 

He had need of patience this evening. My 
heart and my mind were inflated with self- 
approval. I was immensely proud of my latest 
and most signal work of benevolence, and abso- 
lutely intolerant of the pitiable weakness of an 
otherwise grand creature whom I had moved 
to befriend a needy fellow-woman. 

Contrasting her and the object of her devotion, 
as I had seen them last, — the woman in the heart 
of the fire-glow in her harmonious room, radiating 
beneficence like a goddess, — and the wisp of a 
man, his head bowed, his cloak clinging to him 
as the shell of a walnut about the kernel, scraping 
the mire from his soles in the public street lest 
the dampness should strike through and set his 
sciatic nerves a-going, — I asked Frederic if I could 
hope to retain respect for a woman I could not 
help loving. At the risk of shocking his fas- 
tidious taste (he was fastidious with regard to a 
woman’s use of strong expressions), I said over 


My Lady Bountiful 


275 


aloud, the rhyme as pat as it was 

“ There was a lady loved a swine. 

* Honey,* said she, 

* Pig-hog ! wilt thou be mine ? 9 

* Hunc ! * said he.” 

Frederic’s hand was toying with my luxuriant 
chestnut hair, “so luxuriant as almost to weigh 
down the shapely head.” 

(That was the way I thought of it then. Let 
it stand !) 

The rhythmic motion was checked as the 
audacious doggerel passed my lips. 

“ Gently, gently, dear ! ” he said, tenderly 
monitory. 

“ But, Frederic, he takes everything, and gives 
her nothing! Now, there are those preposterous 
stockings. I am just as certain as if you had 
told me (and you could never tell me an untruth), 
that she has had those ridiculous dozens and 
dozens of them knit these twenty years — think 
of it, dearest ! twenty years, a thousand-and-one 
pairs at the lowest computation — knit for him 
and paid for materials and work, then given them 


again, and 
vulgar : — 


276 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


to him ! And he has accepted them as if he were 
doing her a favor, that she may not lose sleep 
in her anxiety over his plaguey old rheumatism ! 
c Pig-hog * isn't a pretty word for ears polite, I 
grant. But, I appeal to you, isn’t such behavior 
the quintessence of swinishness ? ” 

“ I sadly fear that you are right, love,” said 
my Frederic, reluctantly. 




Chapter XIV 

"M. P” 


"To live in hearts we leave behind 
Is not to die.” 


— Campbell. 


C-HRISTMAS was less than a week off, and I 
was, as usual, spending Friday evening with Miss 
Barbara. 

Supper was over. The party of four had eaten 
it in the dining room across the hall from the 
back parlor in which we were now assembled. I 
had my own low rocker at the corner of the 
hearth ; the Major, pipe in mouth, was ensconced 
in his deep elbow-chair, while Miss Barbara sat 


277 


2 78 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


at the piano, playing softly a medley of old airs. 
Miss Marcia, upright as a yellow pine sapling, 
occupied a straight-backed high chair under the 
chandelier. A fleecy length of stocking depended 
from the shining needles. She wrought without 
looking at the clicking steels, her eyes fixed medi- 
tatively upon the fire, her fingers moving with 
the precision of clock-work. Her handicraft, like 
her brain-work, was phenomenal. 

Her face, as she listened to Miss Barbara’s 
music and seemed to study the scarlet depths of 
the coals, was curiously softened. It could never 
be passably comely. I had not believed that 
bodily ease and the fulfilment of her cherished 
intellectual ambition could have metamorphosed 
her into what I was looking at now. The change 
had been so gradual that I had not appreciated 
how complete it was. 

True, the schoolgirls, with the frank imperti- 
nence of their order, had remarked that “ Phee 
had spruced up mightily since she had been stay- 
ing at Miss Barbara Allen’s ! ” 

Her going there had given rise to wonder- 
ing gossip, until it was known that her mother 


m.p : 


had been an early friend of the rich, eccentric 
spinster. 

Her sojourn under the hospitable roof excited 
no invidious comment after that. Long visits 
were too common to be surprising. 

The improvement in her apparel and general 
appearance was freely discussed. Miss Barbara 
judged too justly of her guest's character and 
prejudices to attempt to fit her out with new 
clothes. By degrees, the country-made wardrobe 
was renovated by Cleo’s clever fingers. A 
breadth was added to a skirt; the fashion of 
sleeves and trimmings was qualified into conform- 
ity with the reigning mode ; her Sunday bonnet, 
and what the girls called the “ bombazine sugar- 
scoop " she wore to school, passed into Cleo’s 
hands and were so thoroughly transmogrified — 
as the unsophisticated wearer believed, by the 
accomplished Abigail — that nobody would have 
known them for the same. 

“ Except," explained Miss Marcia, to our 
secret gratification, “as there exists a decidedly 
family likeness between mourning bonnets, by 
whomsoever fashioned or worn." 


280 When Grandmamma was Fotirteen 


Miss Barbara’s milliner kept her own counsel, 
and so did we. 

The unconscious victim of the pious fraud 
wore her best black frock to-night. She had 
learned in four weeks that dressing for the even- 
ing was a social custom, and she was pathetically 
anxious that no blunder of hers should mortify 
her benefactress. The said best frock was bom- 
bazine, trimmed with crape. In its original form 
it had been violently unbecoming. With double 
folds of white crepe de lisse at the wrists, and a 
stomacher of the same filling in the V-shaped 
opening below the throat, it detracted from, in- 
stead of contributing to, her homeliness. 

Viewed as a part of the great change for which 
I was continually hugging my inner self, I re- 
garded Miss Marcia’s costume and her evident bien 
etre with interested complacency. Lying back in 
the cushioned chair that lent itself amiably to each 
tired joint in the frame of a fast-growing, hard- 
working schoolgirl, I took sweet counsel with 
Frederic Sedley, drank in his praises of my 
benevolent disposition and achievements ; talked 
over my plans for the nearing holidays, and made 


M.P . 


281 


daring excursions into the future we were to share 
so long as we both should live. 

All this to the music flowing from Miss Bar- 
bara’s fingers, — a ripple, rather than a tide, 
lulling cares to rest, blending with, and making a 
part of, love reveries. 

Passing, without pause or startling transition, 
from one theme to another, the performer played, 
at last, The Last Rose of Summer , with varia- 
tions, — some of which were, I suspected, of her 
own composition, — dying away in a plaintive 
diminuendo passage, hardly louder than the sigh 
of the wind without. 

“The sweetest air ever written!” said I, as Miss 
Barbara bent to the grate to warm her fingers. 

Her answer made me sorry I had spoken : — 

“ It is the Maj’s favorite.” 

“ Major Peachy’s taste is then as admirable in 
music as in other arts, literature included,” said 
Miss Marcia, inclining her head toward his cor- 
ner, and receiving a bow in acknowledgment of 
the compliment. 

“ How deliciously cosey it is here ! ” I essayed 
to divert the course of the conversation. 


28 2 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


That two votaries should burn incense upon 
the dumb idol’s altar was more than my patience 
could brook. 

“ How Cowper would have gloried in this 
room — the fire and the music! If I were a 
poet, I would write of it. If I were a painter, I 
would make a picture of it. You, Miss Barbara, 
should be standing just where you are in the full 
light. It brings out the lustre of your silk, and 
your rings and chain, and the wee touch of silver 
in your hair. Miss Marcia would make a good 
foil, a little in the background. Hear the sleet 
against the windows ! That was all we needed 
to perfect our sense of comfort.” 

Still knitting, and still gazing abstractedly into 
the fire, Miss Marcia recited with proper empha- 
sis and discretion: — 

“ Now, stir the fire and close the shutters fast : 

Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round ; 

And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn 
Throws up a steamy column, and the cups 
That cheer, but not inebriate, wait on each — 

So, let us welcome peaceful evening in. ,, 

To quote poetry by the line, the couplet, the 


M.P. 


283 


stanza, the page, was a polite accomplishment at 
that date. There was nothing unusual in Miss 
Marcia’s exercise of memory. Three of the 
party had read Southey’s Life of Cowper that 
winter. Talk of books we had enjoyed was also 
a social exercise. 

The Major took his pipe from his lips. 

“ Very much so ! ” he uttered, oracularly. 

I dashed in again like the malapert I was, to 
avert analysis and praise of the sapient observa- 
tion : — 

“We are having a real Cowper evening!” I 
cried. “Here is Mrs. Unwin with her knitting. 
You know what Lady Hesketh wrote to her sis- 
ter Theodora about it : c Her constant employ- 
ment is knitting stockings, which she does with 
the finest needles I ever saw ; and very nice they 
are — the stockings, I mean. Our cousin has 
not, for many years, worn other than those of 
her manufacture. She knits silk, cotton, and 
worsted.’ And Cowper alludes to this knitting 
in the last verse he wrote to her. Miss Marcia! 
you recollect everything; what does he say of 
Mary’s knitting needles ? ” 


284 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


The response was prompt. Her fingers did 
not falter ; the thoughtful eyes were not with- 
drawn from the vari-colored flames dancing over 
the pile of coal ; her enunciation was thrillingly 
distinct : — 

ft ‘ Thy needles, once a shining store. 

For my sake, restless heretofore. 

Now rest, disused, and shine no more. 

My Mary ! ’ ” 

“ By George ! ” said the Major. His pipe had 
turned upside down, spilling the ashes upon his 
knees and the carpet. 

“ One is prone to forget one’s present occupa- 
tion when absorbed in lofty meditation,” said 
Miss Marcia, springing to the rescue with a 
hearth brush, and kneeling to sweep up the hot 
debris he had flicked from his knees with the 
bandanna handkerchief. 

Miss Barbara laughed and reached down a sil- 
ver tobacco-box from the mantel, which always 
stood there. 

“ It was all Cowper’s fault — or c My Mary’s ’ ! ” 

“ Don’t, for pity’s sake, throw any more blame 
upon her!” exclaimed I. “I can hardly forgive 


m.p : 


285 


Lady Hesketh for writing of her to Theodora as 
c a dreadful spectacle/ when she had almost killed 
herself taking care of Cowper all those twenty 
odd years. And his cousin says, c Yet within 
two days she has made our wretched cousin drag 
her round the garden ! ’ Think how she had 
slaved for him when he was entirely mad and 
half-mad ; how she sat by calmly and saw him 
flirt with Lady Austen and pet his dear cousin 
Lady Hesketh, and put up with his humors when 
he was said to be sane ! I never read or heard of 
such devotion in another woman who expected 
nothing in return for it. He ought to have mar- 
ried her — and he wouldn't ! ” 

“ He couldn’t, Molly ! ” Miss Barbara’s mel- 
low tones sounded solemn after my excited girlish 
accents. “ And she couldn’t let him marry her ! 
He was years younger than she, and he had been 
insane three times. He had no right to marry 
any woman, much less the woman to whom he 
owed so much. For my part, I think the history 
of their intimacy — call it friendship, or call it 
love, as you will — is far more sacred and beau- 
tiful than if they had quieted silly gossip by 


286 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


becoming plain, humdrum Mr. and Mrs. William 
Cowper ” — this in a lighter strain. “ And you, 
Miss Molly, would not have been half so much 
interested in the tale. Marriage would have left 
no romance in it for you. That’s the reason all 
novels end with the wedding-day. Now — go 
on with your group around the fire ! Marcia is 
Mrs. Unwin, and you are Lady Austen — ” 

“ And you Lady Hesketh — the best of them 
all ! ” I interrupted — cc if she did call poor, para- 
lytic Mrs. Unwin c a dreadful spectacle/ ” 

“ And Major Peachy is the gentle, gifted poet, 
William Cowper ! ” struck in Miss Marcia from 
behind me. 

She had hung up the hearth-brush, stepped to 
the dining room to wash her fingers, and now 
spoke, in entering the parlor. The Major pulled 
himself up by the arms of his faithful chair, laid 
his hand upon his heart, and bowed at an angle 
of forty-five degrees. 

“ I am flattered beyond my deserts ! ” he 
articulated with ponderous gallantry, picking up 
the lamb’s-wool stocking from the table and offer- 
ing it to her. Miss Marcia dropped a courtesy 


m.p: 


287 


and took it, or that part which held the needles. 
The Major had retained the top and was 
examining it closely. 

“ M. P.,” he read slowly. “ How did you 
make the letters ? Before or after the — ah — 
rest of the — article was made ? ” 

“ While she was knitting it, of course ! ” cried 
Miss Barbara, with a burst of gay laughter. 
“ I agree with you that it is cleverly done. I 
couldn't do it to save my life. My mother 
could — and all the ladies of her time. Yes! 
I see that you are about to remind me that 
Miss Snead belongs to a time three genera- 
tions later. But she has so many fine, old-fash- 
ioned virtues and accomplishments that we forget 
sometimes.” 

cc I am twenty-eight years of age,” said Miss 
Marcia, in her honest simplicity. “ I am no 
longer a girl, albeit still under tutors and 
governors — as befits my ignorance.” 

“ Ignorance ! Hold your tongue ! ” ordered 
Miss Barbara. “ The only time you talk like a 
blockhead is when you provoke us by saying 
such things.” 


288 When Gra 7 idmamma was Fourteen 


Then I told of the text Annie Gleason had 
slipped under my elbow on Opening Day. 

Miss Marcia's mulberry blush and deprecatory 
laugh did not disguise her pleasure. She looked 
very happy in resuming her seat and taking her 
needles in hand. The Major hitched his chair a 
foot or two nearer, and took hold of the stocking 
leg again. 

“ M. P. ! ” he repeated, as if spelling it by the 
thread. “ Well, I declare ! I suppose, now, 
you could have — ah — worked in the whole 
name if you had wanted to ? " 

“ I could do it, of course ! " smiled the knitter. 
“ If you desire it, I will endeavor to knit 
prsenomen and cognomen into the next pair." 

“ Well — I declare!" reiterated the Major, 
settling down into his elbow-chair. “ That 
would be — ah — what you might call an 
achievement. Quite so, in fact ! " 

He picked up his pipe, refilled it, and spoke 
not a dozen words more until he bade us “ good 
night " at his regular hour of departure in winter, 
— ten o'clock. 

I slept in a little room opening out of Miss 


“M:P: 


289 


Barbara’s, and she would make me undress by her 
fire. Her chamber was directly over the back 
parlor, and of the same size and shape. In the 
recesses at the sides of the mantel hung two 
portraits. One was of her sister, Mrs. Peachy, 
taken in her bridal dress — white satin, draped 
with rich old lace. A veil of the same lace fell 
back from her head far below the waist, and was 
caught up over the left ear with a spray of orange- 
blossoms. 

While we were toasting our toes preparatory to 
going to bed, Miss Barbara, seeing my eyes stray 
wistfully to the picture, began to talk of the 
original. She had never done this to me until 
now. 

“ You may well look at her ! ” she began with- 
out preamble. “ She was the most beautiful and 
the happiest creature in the State when she put 
on that dress for the first time. The lace was 
imported for our mother’s wedding-dress.” 

“ Then you ought to have had it ! ” said I, 
flatly. “ You were the older of the two.” 

“ It was left by will to me. It was at my 
especial request that Agnes accepted it and had 


290 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


it put on her wedding-frock — as was but right 
and proper.” 

There was nothing in tone or manner to sug- 
gest the thought, but it entered my mind and 
would not be routed. I was morally certain that 
the lace had been set aside for, and maybe actu- 
ally sewed upon, Miss Barbara's own bridal 
gown. I caught myself wondering if she or 
the dressmaker ripped it off. 

She was looking dreamily into the fire. The 
wind rattled the dead stalks of the white jessa- 
mine against the windows. For the want of 
something else that could be said, I remarked, 
awkwardly : — 

“ What beautiful eyes she had ! ” 

Miss Barbara awoke : — 

“ Glorious ! so soft and yet so clear and ex- 
pressive ! When she was two days old, they 
let me hold her. I was but seven years old, 
and so proud of the honor ! And while I 
had both arms tight about her for fear of 
letting her fall, she opened her dear blue eyes 
wide and stared straight into mine. They say 
babies are as blind as puppies until they are 


m.p: 


291 


nine days old. She looked right at me, I tell 
you, and smiled ! Miracle, or no miracle, it was 
the truth, as sure as I am sitting here. I was 
her slave from that minute until I had her last 
look and closed the beautiful eyes upon all 
earthly sights.” 

There was a long silence. The fire sighed; 
the dead vines tapped upon the panes where 
snow was beginning to show whitely against 
the black background. 

Miss Barbara began again in the same musing 
monotone : — 

“ It almost broke my heart when she was 
sent abroad to school. Our Aunt Agnes — for 
whom she was named, our father’s sister — had 
married a New Yorker whose business obliged 
him to live in Paris. His wife proposed to take 
Agnes with her and put her to school. Aunt 
Agnes was a Roman Catholic. I didn’t like 
the idea of a convent. But my father was a 
very resolute man, and between them they had 
their way. Agnes was but fifteen. She had 
slept in my arms ever since she was five. Our 
mother died then. I shall never have a child, 


292 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


but I know how mothers feel. I wrote to her 
every week after they took her from me. I 
thought of her all day long, and dreamed of her 
every night. When she was coming home, I 
had the house painted inside and out, and 
everything brightened up as if I had expected 
a queen. When we met I cried for joy harder 
than I had cried for grief when she went away.” 

Both of us gazed silently at the figure in bridal 
array — the fair, smooth face, perfect in doll-like 
beauty, the smiling blue eyes. Then I turned 
to the other portrait — that of a dashing, hand- 
some man with dark eyes and hair. A half 
smile of confident happiness sat well upon his 
mouth. One shapely hand, laid lightly on the 
elbow of his chair, held a crimson rose between 
two fingers. 

“Was it a good likeness when it was taken ? ” 
I asked timidly, feeling, all the while, that I trod 
upon unsafe ground. 

“ Excellent ! You cannot see the resemblance, 
perhaps. I, who have seen him almost every 
day, hardly notice any change. He was crushed 
by her death. I promised her to keep him from 


m.p: 


293 


laying violent hands on himself. For many 
months I never saw him smile. But his is too 
strong a nature to be permanently depressed. 
As time went on he regained spirits and, to some 
extent, his interest in life. We seldom speak 
of what we have lost, but neither of us has ever 
forgotten it. His heart was buried with Agnes. 
There is no resurrection for it in this world. 
Except for ourselves, there is nobody living to 
cherish her memory.” 

Her hand stole to my shoulder. 

“ For the sake of the sweet sister who was 
more to me than most daughters are to the 
mothers that bore them, I love young girls. 
Sometimes ” — the firm fingers closing affection- 
ately upon my shoulder — “ I get to loving them 
very dearly for themselves ! ” 

I turned my head to press my lips to her hand. 
“ Dear Miss Barbara ! I wish I could do some- 
thing to show how grateful I am for all your 
goodness to me, and how dearly I love you ! ” 
“ When you say, c I love you ! * you pay 
every debt you owe me — if there are any ! But 
there isn’t one! Now, Mousie, go to bed! I 


294 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


am a selfish old woman to keep you up until 
eleven o’clock, listening to my gabble!” 

I did not sleep for a long time after she sent 
me to bed. Through the open door I could see 
the crimson fire-shine and it wooed me invitingly, 
— night-hawk that I am. Assured, by listening 
to Miss Barbara’s regular breathing, that she 
slept, I wrapped a wadded dressing-gown around 
me, stole into the outer room, and tucked myself 
up in kittenish fashion in an easy-chair that 
had been Miss Barbara’s grandmother’s. There, 
with the portraits of the handsome bridal pair 
smiling down upon me, the fire purring drowsily, 
and the rattle of dead sprays against the glass 
muffled by the clogging snow, I fell to work, 
with my Frederic’s help, upon the reconstruction 
of one of my romances. 

After all, Miss Barbara’s sublime constancy 
was to the memory of her sister — not to her 
own love for the man who, rumor said, had jilted 
her for a younger and prettier girl. The dis- 
covery was a great relief to me. I could dwell 
sympathizingly upon her devotion to Agnes — 
the more than daughter to the woman who was 


m.p: 


295 


never to hold a child of her own in her arms. 
I wondered that I had ever laid a stone upon 
the foundation of old wives’ fables. The idea 
that my brave lady had “ loved a swine ” (I 
blushed in recalling the impertinent rhyme !) 
was preposterous throughout. I even relented 
in my judgment of the rickety human hulk 
that had been flattered by Miss Marcia’s knitting 
his initials into the top of a ridiculously long 
stocking leg. He was a harmless old dandy, 
dignified into manliness by his sister-in-law’s 
tender thought of the day when he was young 
and beloved by her lost darling. 

“This is a lesson in the folly of hasty con- 
clusions which both of us will do well to recol- 
lect,” said Frederic, with characteristic and tactful 
magnanimity, including himself in a blunder that 
was mine alone. 

The fire had grown too feeble to purr any 
longer, and I hied me back to pillow and 
blankets. 

That night I dreamed that I made a cap for 
William Cowper, in pattern like that presented 
to him by Lady Hesketh and seen in the frontis- 


296 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


piece to Southey's book. But the material was 
the lace from Agnes Peachy's wedding-dress, and 
when I fitted it to the gentle poet’s head, he 
changed to Major Peachy, who said “ Hunc ! ” 
by way of thanks. 


Chapter XV 

The Old Year Out 

** Well, I’ll repent, and that suddenly while I am in some 
liking. I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I shall have 
no strength to repent.” 

— Henry IV. 

On the last night of the year we had a “ mo- 
lasses stew.” In the language of the Twentieth 
Century fun-seeker, it would be a “ candy pull.” 

With a line perception of the true inwardness 
— the real backbone — of every social function 
we made the <c stew ” a prominent feature of the 
occasion. Those who were to pull the cooked 
syrup into candy took a hand in the work from 
first to last. 


297 


298 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


The dining room was cleared after an early 
supper; the long table, draped in white, was 
laid with five, six, or more large china plat- 
ters. Flanking each was a plate of butter and 
a small bowl of flour. The lavish use of this 
last was disapproved by veteran candy makers. 
My mother, who had a reputation in this line, 
disdained both, pulling the treacle into snowy 
whiteness and spongy brittleness with the tips 
of her slender fingers, with no trouble from 
stickiness and cc strings.” 

The table was laid by servants, and then 
the young people took charge. A monstrous 
bell-metal preserving kettle, bright as new gold 
within and without, was put upon the hearth 
and the molasses measured into it. The vine- 
gar which was to facilitate the process was 
then carefully measured and added, the kettle 
set upon a strong trivet over a bed of clear red 
coals, and relays of attendants were appointed 
to watch the first signs of ebullition, and to 
prevent, first, boiling over, and next, burning 
to the bottom of the kettle. Two of these — 
a man and a woman, or a boy and a girl — stood 


The Old Year Out 


299 


over the caldron, long-handled spoons in hands, 
their clothes guarded from spatter and trickle 
by wide white aprons. The rest dispersed about 
the room, chatting, bantering the officiating pair, 
carrying on flirtations, or genuine love-making, 
as the case might be — in short, fun-making after 
the style of a time when cards and dancing were 
not vital essentials to the enjoyment of healthy, 
normal youth. We frolicked then spontaneously. 
Now, we must be entertained artificially. 

From the adjoining room the sound of the 
piano broke occasionally into the jovial din of 
talk and laughter. 

cc It brings to mind the slave at the banquet 
of Glaucus, carving the Ambracian kid to the 
sound of soft music,” said Miss Marcia, in my 
ear, as I stood a little apart from the rest, watch- 
ing Dick Carter, who was stirring the bubbling 
pot under Paulina Hobson's supervision. 

“ I was just thinking how intensely Virginian 
is this scene, and how keenly Miss Barbara and 
the Major would appreciate it. They cherish all 
the old festive observances, now, alas l fallen into 
desuetude.” 


300 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


Miss Marcia was the only person I ever knew 
who said “alas ! ” in familiar conversation. 

I laughed. 

“ Miss Barbara would, I believe. I cannot 
fancy the Major at a molasses stew. He would 
be as much out of his element as a bishop in a 
ball-room.” 

Miss Marcia looked pained, and I hastened to 
modify my candid speech. 

“You see, Miss Barbara has kept young, and 
he hasn’t ! He seems a century older than 
she.” 

“That is the outer man, Molly — the stillness 
of a deep channel. At heart, he is youthful — 
far more youthful than might be predicated from 
his years.” 

“ Maybe so,” said I, indifferently. 

Major Peachy’s heart and his years were far- 
off and unimportant matters by comparison with 
what were, to my eyes, and maybe to others, 
Paulina Hobson’s obvious designs upon my 
cousin. She wore a blue merino trimmed with 
white. (We never “dressed up” for a molasses 
stew.) The gown became her astonishingly well. 


The Old Year Out 


301 


Her lint-white hair hung in natural curls about 
the thin cheeks that had a pretty pink flush, 
natural, or acquired by toilet arts. A full apron 
made partial amends for no hips to speak of, and 
her flat chest was ingeniously padded. Dick was 
almost a doctor. Couldn’t he detect her mak- 
ings-up ? 

I had sent him the ring left in my care within 
a week after Marion’s death. He had thanked 
me for it briefly and strongly, and never alluded 
to it since. I had not met him during the holi- 
days until this afternoon. As soon as he re- 
moved his gloves I saw that he wore the ring 
upon the little finger of his left hand, but — and 
I comprehended at once why — the ruby heart 
and clasped hands were turned inward toward the 
palm. It passed easily with casual observers for 
an unremarkable, chased ring, with nothing to 
distinguish it, or to catch the eye above a hun- 
dred others. He bore himself gallantly among 
the merry-makers. Paulina could not complain 
that he did not second her advances toward a 
flourishing flirtation. The molasses was so near 
the critical stage of candying that she was obliged 


302 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


to instruct him continually as to the right way of 
stirring. 

“ The spoon must scrape the bottom every 
time ! ” I heard her say as I edged nearer to 
them to make way for the butler and footman 
who were buttering dishes and plates preparatory 
to the pouring-out. “ I believe you are afraid 
of burning your hand ! Here, let me show 
you !” 

She seized the upper part of the handle pro- 
jecting above his hand and pushed it downward, 
with a vigorous rotary motion. 

“ Now ! keep that up ! ” 

An involuntary motion of the left hand, to 
protect the right from the spatter produced 
by the energetic stirring, brought the palm into 
view. 

Paulina gave a stifled screech and snatched 
at it. 

“ If that isn’t a cunning trick ! Why do you 
want to hide your lady-love’s heart? Who is 
she ? I won't tell ! A Philadelphia belle ? ” 

Dick did not withdraw his hand, but kept on 
stirring, mumbling something over and over to 


The Old Year Out 


303 


himself in an absent-minded way, as if uncon- 
scious of her discovery and catechism. She gave 
the hand she held a pettish shake. 

“ What's that you are saying ? Speak out ! ” 

The mumbling continued, but in a louder 
tone, audible to others as well as herself. 

“ I will be good ! 1 will be good ! ” again and 

again, in the tone of a terrified child, his eyes 
dilated in alarm. 

“ Has he lost his senses ? ” appealed Paulina, 
to those about her. 

All crowded nearer. Dick stared wildly at 
the seething mass, now covered with miniature 
geysers that spat and tumbled and moaned. 

cc I will be good ! I will be good ! I don’t 
want to go where it’s hotter than it is here ! ” 

Gilbert, grinning from ear to ear, appeared at 
his elbow, and took the spoon with the affection- 
ate familiarity of an old family servant. 

“ ’Scuse me, Mars’ Richard ! Maybe I’d 
make a better devil than you would, suh! An’ 
it’s ready to po’ out now, anyhow.” 

In the bustle of falling back from the kettle 
lifted from the fire and carried to the table by 


304 Whe 7 i Grandmamma was Fourteen 


the two colored men, Dick slipped the ring into 
my hand. 

“ Keep it for me ! Fve got to pull with her ! ” 
lie whispered, and was gone from my side. 

In five minutes the pulling was under way, to 
the accompaniment of little shrieks from the girls 
and ejaculations of dismay from their partners as 
the dark-brown mass, detached from the buttered 
dishes as soon as it could be handled at all, 
“ balled ” and “ roped ” and stuck to unskilful 
fingers, and had to be treated with butter or flour 
to avert utter ruin. Manipulated by experts, 
similar masses grew swiftly into shining golden 
ribbons, drawn into tenuous lengths between 
partners, and tossed back with the speed of the 
sunbeams they resembled as they glistened in 
the lamplight. They made a graceful play of it 
— these experts, of whom there were not a few 
in the party. My mother was eagerly sought 
as a partner ; my father pulled steadily, if more 
slowly than younger men, with Miss Marcia 
at the other end of the looped ribbon. I had 
a college boy, a visitor in the neighborhood, 
whose awkwardness threw double responsibility 


The Old Year Out 


305 


upon me. The long rope was in fair working 
order before I had leisure to notice who were 
our neighbors. Paulina Hobson’s shrill titter 
enlightened me : — 

“You are the cleverest creature I ever saw! 
You didn’t choose to risk having your heart — 
a bleeding heart, too ! torn out by the roots by 
hot molasses ! ” 

“ I knew my partner would get hold of my 
heart, by fair means, or by unfair, before she was 
through with me,” returned Dick, lackadaisically, 
and the small talk rattled on. 

When the candy lay in glossy coils and braids 
— (just the color of Mary ’Liza’s hair, as more 
than one admirer averred) — upon the plates, 
hands were washed, aprons were laid aside, and 
the gay company trooped into the parlor where 
refreshments of divers sorts awaited them. There 
would be Christmas games, presently, and then 
we would watch out the old year. 

It was half-past eleven, and a lively game of 
“ clap in and clap out ” was in progress, when 
Dick came over to my corner. All my life I 
have had a penchant for corners, when alone or 


306 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


in company. I cannot think or talk well in 
the middle of a room, particularly if the room 
be large. I was tired of trying to put ’Gus 
Taverno, the college boy from the Valley of 
Virginia, at his ease “because he was a stranger”; 
tired of the vapid praise of the older beaux, and 
disinclined to be patronized by the few really 
elderly men who asked “what I was doing at 
school ? ” So I slipped into a real corner made 
by a bookcase and the wall, taking Frederic 
Sedley with me, of course. He and I were 
talking of Dick — I making believe I was look- 
ing up at Frederic as he stood before me, his 
stately height carrying his head so far above me 
that I had to lean mine against the wall to see 
his face — when my cousin’s approach made him 
step aside. 

“ Say ! ” said Dick, resting one hand on the 
bookcase to get down to my ear. cc I’m devilish 
sick of all this ! And I want my ring back. I’m 
lonely without it ! I want you to put it on for 
me in the room — where she gave it to you! I 
want to be there when the clock strikes twelve. 
Do this for me, Molly ! ” 


The Old Year Out 


307 


“ They are going to play blindman’s-buff 
next,” I said in the guarded tone he had used. 
“ I heard Paulina ask them to do it just now.” 
I smiled rather maliciously, fancying I knew 
whom she could contrive to have catch her. 

Dick moved restively. 

“ Paulina Hobson be — dished ! Molly, you’ll 
make me say something you’ll be sorry to hear 
if you try that sort of thing on me to-night.” 

I sobered instantly. 

“ I was about to say that we can slip out with- 
out being noticed while they are playing that. I 
will meet you in the upper hall. You’d better 
get away now — or you’ll be caught ! ” 

For Paulina’s green eyes had espied him, and 
I saw her sidle in our direction, looking the other 
way as she moved. 

Before I followed Dick in his successful retreat 
I sought my mother. Dick and I were more 
like brother and sister than like cousins, and we 
had often played by the long winter day in the 
room occupied by Mary ’Liza and myself. More- 
over, when I was young the bedroom was not 
hedged about with the conventions that guard 


308 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


it now. Perhaps because two or three usually 
slept in one room, and in the country we had 
but one state drawing room in the house, and 
that was not used every day. “ Mother’s cham- 
ber” was the general sitting room. Yet some 
instinct belonging to the “ Border-land ” guided 
me to the safest of counsellors. 

It lacked ten minutes of twelve as I got to her. 

“ Mother,” I said, leaning over the back of 
her chair and speaking low and fast. “ Dick 
wants to see the room where Marion died. 
Would there be anything wrong in my taking 
him upstairs ? ” 

She raised her eyes as frankly as if I were four, 
instead of fourteen years old. 

“ Not at all, my dear. But I would not stay 
more than a few minutes, as questions may be 
asked. You will probably find Marthy there ; 
I told her to sit up for you girls. I did not like 
to keep one of the younger maids up so late. 
If Marthy is asleep, let her alone. If she is 
awake, tell her I would like to speak to her.” 

The trusty maid was on guard, and so fast 
asleep upon a low stool in a corner by the 


The Old Year Out 


309 


hearth that her head was doubled over upon 
her knees. 

The chimney was heaped with blazing logs, 
but the red glow did not hinder us from seeing 
that the moonlight lay in a broad, slanting track 
across the room from the east window to the bed, 
just as it did the night Marion gave me the ring. 

I had written to Dick of this, and I knew that 
he thought of it now. He crossed the floor to 
the bed and knelt down. One outstretched arm 
embraced the pillow where her head had lain. I 
bowed my face upon my hands, standing between 
him and Marthy, to screen him should she awake. 

I was praying fervently for strength to say to 
him what conscience dictated as a duty to him 
and to the saint who had loved him to the death. 

While he knelt and I stood, the great clock in 
the lower room struck twelve. Without other 
movement Dick held out his left hand, and I 
restored the ring to its place. Before he arose 
he kissed the pillow and stroked it lovingly. 
Then we left the room together. Marthy had 
not stirred, even when the clock struck. 

There was no light in the upper hall except 


310 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


what poured in a silvery stream through the 
end window near the stairhead. I laid my hand 
on Dick's arm and stayed him there. My lips 
were suddenly dry and stiff. It was not so easy 
to perform my mission as I had believed it would 
be when I rehearsed my speech to Frederic 
Sedley last night. 

“ Dick, dear ! ” I faltered. 

He glanced down and must have detected the 
tears in my eyes, for I could see that his glistened 
in the moonlight. He put a brotherly arm 
about me : — 

“Yes, Molly! you loved her very dearly. 
You were with her at the last. You have been 
true to her and true to me throughout. God 
bless you for it ! Don't try to talk, dear ! 
There are some things we can’t put into 
words." 

“ But, Dick, I must ! ” cried I, fastening upon 
the hand that wore the ring and feeling strength 
return to my heart as I touched it. “ I won’t 
keep you long. Somebody — several people — 
have told us lately that you are not living as you 
should — as she would have had you live, Dick ! 


The Old Year Out 


3ii 

— that you are drinking !” — bringing out the 
word with a lunge — cc drinking hard ! — that, 
unless you pull up you will throw yourself away 

— your talents and your hopes of a profession 

— and will break your mother’s heart. Dear 
cousin ! say that this is not true ! ” 

An awful pause ensued. From below-stairs the 
sound of congratulations and good wishes arose 
in a tumultuous murmur. Then, somebody 
went to the piano, — I knew, afterward, it was 
Mary ’Liza — and played Old Hundred in full 
chords, her foot upon the loud pedal. Before 
Dick answered, twenty voices took up the strain : 

** Praise God from whom all blessings flow / 

Praise Him , all creatures here below ; 

Praise Him above , ye heavenly host ; 

Praise Father , Son, and Holy Ghost J” 

Dick turned away from the lighted window, 
and stood with head bent upon his breast, his 
face in the shadow. The tears ran fast over my 
cheeks. Neither of us moved until the last note 
died away, and the people downstairs began to 
talk again. 


312 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


“ I suppose she is singing it with the rest 
of them up there ! ” said Dick, in a muffled 
voice, lifting his face again to the white moon- 
light. 

“ For her sake, Dick ! ” I sobbed. 

He gripped both of my hands hard. 

“ I’ll try — Molly! But you don't know — 
no woman ever can know what a man has to 
battle with ! There was I, alone, homesick, 
broken-hearted, despairing ! I had to work ! I 
had to mingle with men and seem like them. I 
must get strength from somewhere. And when 
a fellow's drunk he forgets for an hour or two. 
That’s something when all the rest of his life is 
to be one bitter memory ! " 

“ But you'll try again, Dick ? I have your 
promise ? " 

“You have my promise, little cousin. Here’s 
the seal ! " 

He pressed my fingers to the ruby heart, then 
raised them to his lips. 

“Well! I declare!” cackled Paulina Hobson, 
from the stairs. “How very romantic — and 
loverlike ! ” 



“‘For her sake, Dick!’ I sobbed.” 




The Old Year Out 


3i3 


She had stolen up like a cat, and now spat like 
one. 

Blind with rage and confusion, I dashed off 
to my room. As I closed the door I heard 
Dick’s gay laugh and the words that went with 
it: — 

“ When a pretty woman shows her rings. 

What can a fellow do ? * * 



Chapter XVI 

My First Taste of Fame 

“ Defend me, therefore. Common Sense, say I, 

From reveries so airy, from the toil 
Of dropping buckets into empty wells. 

And growing old in drawing nothing up.” 

— Cowper. 

Al STRANGE thing and a notable happened 
soon after our return to school in January. 

In order to tell it aright, I must go back a few 
weeks in my story. 

A passenger vessel, on her way from a South- 
ern port to New York, was stranded by a storm 
upon a reef, where she was beaten to pieces by 
the surf. Many lives were lost — among them 


314 


My First Taste of Fame 


315 


several distinguished Southern citizens and people 
of note from other parts of the country. One of 
these — as the Lady Superior informed us with 
much real feeling — was an intimate friend of 
General Nunham. 

“ They were at school and college together, 
and were afterward brothers-in-arms.” 

So impressed were we by the story as sketched 
by her and the particulars given by the news- 
papers, that the Generalissimo’s absence from the 
morning Bible reading, as a token of respect to 
his old comrade, provoked no irreverent criti- 
cism. I lay awake long that night and the next, 
as was my wont when my imagination was stirred. 
The papers had described the scenes on board 
of the doomed vessel, as billow after billow swept 
her deck, — when, in the graphic language of 
Luke, the beloved author-physician, “all hope 
that they should be saved was taken away.” A 
venerable clergyman, once a Richmond pastor, 
had gone from group to group with words of 
holy confidence and exhortation, reminding his 
fellow-passengers that this last rough stage of 
their voyage would be mercifully short, and that 


3 i 6 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


the suffering was not worthy to be compared 
with the glory almost shining upon their sight. 
Much stress was laid upon the circumstance that 
the bell of the steamer, attached to that portion 
of the hulk which was wedged in among the rocks, 
rang for days, as the waves surged back and forth 
over and through the broken timbers, and when 
no human thing was left alive upon the wreck. 

The thought of that knell fastened upon my 
imagination. I lived the scene over in every 
phase while I tossed in feverish unrest from mid- 
night until dawn. The cruel billows, returning 
ruthlessly to their work when, in each recession, 
they carried off a struggling man, woman, or 
child to certain death ; the calm front of the man 
of God — who, I recollected, had baptized my 
baby brother upon a visit to our country church 
— lifted to the inclement heavens as if he already 
saw them opening to show the glory to be re- 
vealed ; the roll and swing and toll of the bell — 
were as real as if known through the medium of 
my natural senses. 

When, at last, I fell asleep, it was to dream 
of an angry sky and an angrier sea, of drowning 


My First Taste of Fame 


317 


men, and intervening angels stooping to the 
wreck, and bearing freed spirits beyond the reach 
of storm and sorrow ; and, above the tumult of 
surf and wind and dying screams, arose the “ toll ! 
toll ! toll ! ” of the passing bell. 

I tried to write it down in verse. What I felt 
and dreamed was poetry, and of no mean order. 
Of course, the thing born of a night and a day 
of travail was not many degrees higher in merit 
than the verses wrought out by the eight-year-old, 
while pacing the garden walk in the summer 
twilight, with the dying flower for inspiration. 
The afflatus was genuine. The failure was in 
my vocabulary. 

Before going to school next day I copied my 
cc poem ” in my neatest hand, signing my name 
below — and in less firm characters: — 

“ Respectfully dedicated to General E. R. 
Nunham .” 

This is what was written above signature and 
dedication : — 

(t A solemn knell peals o’er the deep, 

A wild and fearful sound. 

Above the wind’s tumultuous sweep 
And the white waves’ restless bound. 


318 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


The tide flows high, and louder still 
Swells out the deep-toned knell ; 

*Tis echoed from the rocky hill 
And ocean’s lowest cell. 

“Toll on ! toll on ! Beauty and pride. 

Manhood’s vigor, youthful bloom. 

And hoary age lie side by side. 

In one engulfing tomb. 

The ocean’s roar breaks not their sleep. 

What boots its rage to them ? 

Peaceful they rest beneath the deep. 

Thy knell their requiem.” 

Watching my opportunity, I contrived to meet 
Mrs. Nunham in the hall at the close of the 
morning session, and gave the folded paper into 
her high-bred hand. I was all a-tremble with 
nervous excitement, and the words hung and 
tripped over one another upon my tongue. 

“ Here is something I have written,” said I, 
short of breath, and feeling a flame kindle more 
hotly in my cheeks with every word. “What 
you told us the other day put it into my head. 
Nobody else has seen it. I hope General Nun- 
ham won't think I have taken a great liberty ! ” 

She was gravely non-committal, as was to be 


My First Taste of Fame 


3i9 


expected, looking from the paper to my red face 
in polite inquiry : — 

“ I am to give this to General Nunham ? ” 

“ If you think it good enough when you have 
read it ! ” with a foolish little cough, and then I 
took to my heels, unable to escape in any other 
fashion. 

She detained me for a moment as I was pass- 
ing her desk during the afternoon session. Her 
manner was gracious, her voice low that no one 
else might hear : — 

“ General Nunham wishes me to thank you 
for the compliment paid to him in the dedica- 
tion of your poem. We are extremely pleased 
with it. The feeling that dictated it and the 
expression of that feeling are alike creditable to 
your heart and to your head.” 

With which well-turned phrase the matter was 
closed for her, or so I thought. I had never 
spoken of it to any one, not even to Cousin 
Molly Belle, and I was not presumptuous 
enough to think that the poem — a frigate of 
the line to me — could be anything more to the 
Lady Superior than a chip in a wayside puddle. 


320 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


When, therefore, Miss Serena came to me 
one stormy January afternoon as I sat in the 
deserted recitation room, conning a French les- 
son, with the message that Mrs. Nunham wished 
to speak to me upstairs, nothing was further 
from my mind than the idea that she had any- 
thing to say of my “poem.” 

“You need not look so startled!” smiled 
Miss Serena. “ There is nothing unpleasant in 
store for you. Quite the reverse.” 

I was startled, and no doubt betrayed my 
discomposure when, having been conducted to 
Mrs. Nunham’s private sitting room, I beheld 
the Generalissimo planted in the exact middle of 
the hearth-rug, his back to the fire, hands down, 
and in his most fixed “ attention ” attitude. He 
inclined his head slightly as I courtesied, but 
made no other movement. 

“ Sit down, my dear ! ” Madame said kindly, 
indicating a chair placed at a conversational 
angle to her own. 

When I obeyed, she proceeded, with increas- 
ing affability, to relate that she had shown my 
“ clever poem ” to a friend of General Nunham, 


My First Taste of Fame 


3 2 1 


— “a family connection, in point of fact ” — and 
a musical composer of some note. He had 
thought so well of the verses that he had set 
them to music. The song, thus accompanied, 
had been accepted by a music publisher in Balti- 
more, and would be issued shortly. 

“With your permission?” concluded Madame, 
her deferential gesture robbing me of the poor 
remnant of self-possession spared by the astound- 
ing intelligence. All the blood in my body was 
slowly draining into my heart. The alarum 
deafened me, sounding in my brain like a drum, 
beaten fast and loud. 

The Lady Superior’s smile was benignant and 
encouraging : — 

“ The General and I agree in the opinion — 
based upon this and other productions — that 
you have talent of a high order. I voice your 
sentiments with mine, I believe, General ? ” she 
interrupted herself to say, turning toward him. 

The General raised one stiff hand to his 
blue-black chin. 

“ Of a high order ! ” he repeated in a dry bass 
voice. “ Very much so ! ” 


322 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


“ Talent which should be cultivated/' pursued 
Madame. 

Intonation and air conveyed her conviction 
that the publication of the poem set to music by 
the General’s friend, and dedicated to the Gen- 
eral, was a vast stride in the direction of that 
cultivation. So marked was the implication 
that the General felt it as another appeal to 
himself. 

“ Cultivated ! ” said the dry bass echo. “ Very 
much so ! ” 

In a flash the recollection of the Major’s 
cc Quite so ! ” awoke my sense of the ridiculous, 
and my wits returned to me, as truth answered 
the prick of' Ithuriel’s spear. What wouldn’t I 
give to be the eavesdropper to a dialogue be- 
tween the two “ brothers-in-arms ” ? 

My voice and what my colored Mammy 
called my “ manners,” were in hand. 

“ You are very kind,” I answered gratefully, 
and without having to clear my throat. “ It is 
a great surprise and a great honor that you and 
General Nunham should think well of my 
humble verses. The subject — and your talk 


My First Taste of Fame 


323 


— inspired me. I should be ungrateful and 
rude and insincere were I to object to the 
publication.” 

“ Thank you ! ” said the Lady Superior, ap- 
parently as sincerely as I had spoken. “Now, 
as to the signature ! You spoke of that, I 
believe, General? You thought it important?” 

The General's hand went up again. I believe, 
still, it began the ascent with the intention of a 
military salute, but it stopped, as before, at his 
chin. 

“Very much so!” the bass dry now to 
grating. 

“Your own name — ” Madame began. 

I interposed in a genuine panic : — 

“ Oh, no ! I could not think of that for — ” 

“ Years to come ! ” I was on the point of 
saying when I stopped short. For, within the 
last five minutes I had taken a resolution from 
which I was never to swerve. I would cultivate 
my talent. I would be an author ! 

Not for worlds would I admit this to my 
nearest of kin and dearest of heart. I could as 
soon have revealed the existence of Frederic 


324 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


Sedley and my relations with him. To see my 
real name in print would shame me as at the 
discovery of gross indelicacy. 

“ I appreciate your modesty,” Madame was 
pleased to observe. “ And we approve of it.” 

The General's hand quivered, but did not 
rise. 

“Then — what do you say to ‘Words by a 
Young Lady/ as being definite, yet modest ? ” 
she continued. 

Here the most astonishing episode in the 
whole wonderful interview occurred. The Gen- 
eral stroked his chin with his right hand, then 
with his left — then — opened his mouth and 
spake as a man, of his own accord! 

“ Of Richmond, Virginia ! ” 

The dry bass was three tones lower in the 
register. 

Madame surveyed him with loving admiration : 

“Admirable, as usual, General! Your judg- 
ment is always infallible. We will forward the 
manuscript to Baltimore this evening, thus 
inscribed.” 

With a few more pleasant words she dismissed 


My First Taste of Fame 


325 


me. I went downstairs and into the street, 
walking upon air. 

Byron’s sneer — 

“ ’Tis pleasant, sure, to see one’s self in 
print — ” is the coarse version of a fine truth. 
To have his thought made visible is the nearest 
approach an embodied immortal can have to 
seeing his astral self with his natural eyes. My 
material body danced homeward upon winged 
heels. Mary ’Liza had not waited for me, and 
at this I rejoiced. She would have thought me 
crazy, and I could not have talked to her, or to 
any one, until my brain found its equilibrium. 

Cousin Molly Belle met me in the hall. 
Dinner was over, and she was wondering uneasily 
at my prolonged absence. 

“ Why, Namesake ! ” she cried at sight of my 
face, “what has happened? You look glori- 
fied ! ” 

I threw myself into her arms and burst into a 
flood of happy tears. 

Her delight and sympathy when my tale was 
told were a foretaste of a blissful week. The 
story of the song and what was to be done with 


326 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


it ran quickly through the school and was talked 
of in the city. Richmond was a small town, 
then, compared with the rising city of the New 
South, -and small matters were of weight. A 
local paper had an item concerning cc a promis- 
ing pupil in one of our best-known and de- 
servedly popular Young Ladies’ Seminaries. 
Her lyric is said by competent judges to evince 
poetic talent — if not genius — of a high grade 
of excellence. A few more exhibitions of this 
sort, and the slander that the South has no litera- 
ture of her own will be silenced forever and 
— to borrow a commercial phrase — c nailed to 
the counter.’ ” 

I sent a copy of the paper to my father. I 
cut out the cc item ” from another paper and laid 
it away under cotton wool in my jewellery-case, 
replacing above the cotton the locket that had 
been my grandmother’s, and an old-fashioned 
brooch in which I had put a lock of Marion 
Cunningham’s hair in place of a stiff white wisp 
that had grown upon the poll of a great uncle 
who had died before I was born. 

The commotion in the little pool of my world 


My First Taste of Fame 


327 


had subsided, and everybody but myself had 
ceased to think of the pebble that had caused it, 
when I was thrown into a more lively twitter by 
another incident connected with my talent and its 
cultivation. The composer who had considered 
my verses worthy of being married to his music 
was to be in town for a day or two, and the 
Nunhams were to lionize him at an evening party 
— part conversazione , part musicale. 

“ None of the day scholars are to be invited — 
with one exception ! ” said Miss Dorothy, who 
called in person to explain verbally to Mary 
’Liza why she was not included in the invitation 
to the Mortons, and why I was. 

“ She should meet Mr. Hewlett, you know,” 
said the good-natured younger of the “joint 
children.” “ As the author of the song to which 
he has written such exquisite music, she is natu- 
rally an interesting personage to him. He will 
sing the song during the evening from the origi- 
nal manuscript. Miss Mplly will be one of the 
stars of the occasion. Her presence will not 
excite invidious comment on the part of other 
young ladies who have not been invited.” 


328 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


I was the youngest guest, by, I should think, 
ten years, in the drawing-room on the memorable 
evening. Never having heard myself spoken of 
as a personage until the word was rounded by 
Miss Dorothy's lips, I had been trying to live 
up to the trisyllable ever since. Uncomfortable 
heats rise to my forehead to this day in recalling 
the absurd height to which injudicious compli- 
ments and my own vanity had raised me. I 
grow hotter in confessing that Byron's words — 
cc I awoke one morning and found myself 
famous” — were in my mind while preparing 
body and mind for the composite soiree to which 
the music-loving fashionists of Richmond were 
bidden. Cousin Molly saw to it that my dress 
of white challe> trimmed with cherry ribbons, was 
simple as became my years. My hair was 
dressed in two long braids tied with the same 
ribbon. My white shoes were rosetted with 
cherry color, and I had my first pair of long 
white kid gloves, coming halfway up to my 
elbows. If my guardian suspected the extrava- 
gance of my anticipation, she betrayed suspi- 
cion by neither word nor look. If she divined 


My First Taste of Fame 


329 


what was to be the awakening, she judged it best 
to let the lesson speak for itself. 

The assembly was large, and looked brilliant. 
Well-dressed men paid diligent attention to 
women, most of whom were elegant and many of 
whom were beautiful. Cousin Molly Belle was 
always a popular figure in social gatherings, 
and Miss Barbara Allen had her own following. 
I sat or stood in the shadow of one of the two, 
unnoticed by strangers, addressed kindly and 
briefly by the few who chanced to recognize me. 
I should have had a stupid time of it but for my 
dear Frederic, by far the best-clothed and most 
knightly man in the room, but never straying 
far from me lest he should miss one feature 
of my cc triumph.” That is what I was so be- 
sotted in my fatuousness as to call it. I was 
reading Corinne in the original, and reached the 
acme of conceit in reminding myself of her as 
Mr. Hewlett, who looked more like a merchant 
than a musician, seated himself at the piano and 
ran his supple fingers over the entire stretch of 
the keyboard in a dashing prelude. He sang 
one, two, three, four songs of his own composing, 


330 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


then several popular ballads, all of which were 
applauded with flattering enthusiasm. 

He had arisen as if to leave the instrument, 
when Miss Dorothy tripped forward and 
whispered something in his ear. A low-toned 
colloquy was closed by his left hand beginning a 
sonorous imitation of a tolling bell far down in 
the bass notes. General Nunham advanced to 
the end of the piano and struck a martial atti- 
tude. I tingled to my toes and finger-tips. I 
had copied the music from a manuscript Miss 
Dorothy had engrossed from Mr. Hewlett’s 
original, and I had played it over until every 
note was mine. I could sing it to-day, and 
manage the ingenious bell accompaniment, 
although I have not seen it in half a century. 
Through my imagination careered stories I had 
heard of calls for “ Author ! ” as the curtain fell 
upon the last act of a successful play. My 
inveterate turn for the grotesque even recalled 
the success of Romeo and Juliet under Mr. 
Vincent Crummies’s managership when Nicholas 
Nickleby led Miss Snevellicci on and divided 
the honors with her. I braced myself to 


My First Taste of Fame 


33i 


support an ovation with becoming modesty, and 
to stand beside Mr. Hewlett “ with sparkling 
eyes and glowing cheeks, but in marvellous 
composure for one so young.” Thus I forecast 
the editorials which would certainly appear in 
to-morrow’s Whig and Enquirer . 

As the last chords died away, a decorous 
modicum of applause followed. Miss Barbara 
— from the other side of the room, where she 
towered up tall above the other women (the 
Major at her elbow, looking like a miniature 
replica of the General) — smiled across at me. 
Cousin Molly, standing nearer, looked her sym- 
pathy, and nodded brightly. Nobody else mani- 
fested the least interest in the authorship of the 
words. Mr. Hewlett got up from the piano- 
stool and began chatting with those about him 
upon various topics. Not once during the even- 
ing did he approach me, and nobody offered to 
introduce him to the little girl in white and cherry 
color. The Nunhams had too many other 
things to think of ; and, after the manner of his 
guild, Mr. Hewlett had too much to think of 
himself to cast a look or idea in the direction of 


33 2 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


a nobody. The words were but the scaffolding 
of his notes and bars. Whatever of reputation 
might be begotten of The Bell of the Steamer 
Atlantic was his, and his alone. 

In the intensity of my chagrin at the igno- 
minious reel and crash of my beautiful struc- 
ture, I could have crept under the piano to 
hide from the laughing, gabbling, selfish throng, 
rustling in silks, draperied with laces, and smell- 
ing of French perfumery. The Event of the 
evening to me was not even an episode to 
them. 

“You know” — kind Miss Serena was saying 
so close to me that I heard her gentle tones 
through all the babble of other voices — “that 
the last ballad he sang was his own composition. 
The words were written by one of our pupils, and 
dedicated to our father.” 

“ Indeed ! ” said one woman. 

Another — “ How gratifying ! ” 

And a man’s drawling voice — “I didn’t catch 
the words! Indeed, nobody ever thinks of lis- 
tening to the words of a song, even if they are 
pronounced distinctly. Usually, one can’t tell 


My First Taste of Fame 


333 


whether they are Choctaw or Italian. What was 
this one about, anyhow if 

A wave of the crowd swept between him and 
me. If he had the story of the words he had 
not heard, it did not move him to seek out the 
author ; for neither he nor any curious or inter- 
ested person said a syllable to me of my share in 
the ballad which was to have been the feature of 
the evening. If I were one of the stars of the 
occasion, it was of the sixteenth magnitude and 
hidden behind a cloud. 

I was too tired to talk on the way home. 
Cousin Molly Belle leaned back in her corner of 
the carriage, and let me sulk in mine. Cousin 
Frank was at home before us, and came out to 
open the carriage-door. He had had a business 
engagement. 

“ Did you have a pleasant evening? ” he asked 
his wife, as we went up the steps. 

“ Hum-m ! take it all together, not wildly 
hilarious ! Mr. Hewlett sang and played a good 
deal and very well. But, like many another musi- 
cian, he is nothing else — consequently very stupid 
and conceited. How long have you been in?” 


334 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


I slipped behind them and ran up to my room. 
Mary 'Liza slept the sleep of the unambitious. 
The brown merino she was to wear next 
morning hung upon the back of a chair; her 
underclothing was disposed across the seat of the 
same in the order in which each piece was to be 
put on ; her shoes were upon the floor before the 
chair, the toes turned out. Neck ribbon and 
hair ribbon were folded small on the bureau with 
a fat book atop of them to take out the creases. 
I stood and looked at her fair, smooth face, and 
envied her with all my might ! Never, in all her 
well-ordered existence, would she have the hard, 
hot pain in the core of her heart that now gnawed 
at mine, — too hard and too hot to accept the 
solace of tears. 

cc And this — "I growled aloud and savagely, 
“ is my first taste of Fame ! ” 

Many, many years thereafter, a dear young 
friend, whose bright social and artistic career was 
to be broken by a tragical death, contrived a sur- 
prise that was to be a triumph for my unworthy 
self. She set some verses of mine to music of 
her own composing, without giving me any 


My First Taste of Fame 


335 


intimation of her intention. By her contrivance, 
the most famous baritone of the season came for- 
ward in the course of a brilliant social function — 
a musical soiree worthy of the name — and an- 
nounced a new song now to be sung for the first 
time, naming the hostess as the composer of the 
music, and myself as author of the words. 

The music was exquisite, and he sang divinely, 
enunciating each word with clearness worthy of 
an accomplished elocutionist. 

The noble music hall, the fashionably attired, 
listening crowd sitting upon gilded chairs; the 
superb tapestries, beyond which one had a vista 
of corridors and drawing-rooms and picture 
gallery — vanished as a dissolving view. I was 
again the neglected, bitter-hearted little girl 
in the white challe frock and cherry ribbons, 
with the salt ooze of disappointment upon her 
lips. 

Now — I expected nothing, rating at its 
proper value the sugared froth of conventional 
compliments several of the company took pains to 
offer when the musical part of the entertainment 
was over. I was serene and complacent in the 


336 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


consciousness that my thanks meant no more to 
them than their congratulations to me. 

When the frank-faced baritone began to praise 
the words of the ballad after I had thanked him 
for the honor his masterly rendition had done 
them, I checked him. Briefly, as befitted place 
and time, I told him the story of that evening of 
my first “ Triumph ” — the evening when the 
truest thing I heard was what the man with the 
drawling voice said : — 

“ Nobody ever thinks of listening to the words 
of a song ! ” 



Chapter XVII 

Wedding Fa.vors 

“’Twas but a dream — let it pass — let it vanish like so many 
others ! 

What I thought was a flower is only a weed and is worthless.* * 

— Longfellow. 

SPRING was coy in her advance upon Winter 
that year. Walking in the Capitol Square one 
Friday afternoon in mid-March, I detected a 
breath of frost in the air that boded ill for budding 
maples and flowering fruit trees. But the grass 
was of a tender emerald, and the sky clear blue. 
Presently I would wend my way up-town. 


337 


338 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


Cousin Molly Belle had given me a commission 
or two to attend to on the way to Miss Barbara’s 
where I was due at supper-time — and as long 
before that hour as I could manage to be there. 
My habit of giving Friday evening to her had 
never been laid aside. 

I was thinking of Miss Barbara as I strolled 
along the upper terrace of the Square on the 
sunny side of the Capitol. Except for a few 
children and nurses basking upon the southern 
slope of the hill, I had the promenade to myself. 
Something in the day, bright and benignant, yet 
crisply bracing, reminded me of her. Miss 
Marcia had brought a message to me from her 
that morning. I was to be sure to come to 
supper, and, if possible, to stay all night. This 
last I could not do. I had returned word to 
her to this effect, but she need not send me 
home. My cousin Dick Carter was in town. 
I was to go to a concert with him, and he 
would take me back to his sister’s when this 
was over. Dick had run on to Richmond for a 
three days’ furlough. He had been working too 
hard and looked jaded and thin. He had arrived 


Wedding Favors 


339 


on Wednesday, and although I had seen little of 
him I had enjoyed that little. His gentle, almost 
subdued manner accorded better with my ideal 
sincere mourner than had the reckless gayety of 
Christmas-tide. When he invited me to go to 
the concert with him I accepted rapturously, and 
Cousin Molly Belle was more pleased and grati- 
fied than was usual even with her. Dick had 
told me that he had no confidante of his hidden 
sorrow beside myself. I felt sure that his sister 
knew of it. The loving solicitude that troubled 
the depths of her sweet eyes when they rested 
upon him — her best-beloved brother — had a 
deeper origin than consideration for his health. 
I was also assured that she was glad to have him 
go out with me for an hour’s diversion from sad 
thoughts and for solace in the music he loved. 

My heart was very full of self-gratulation in 
the thought of the good influence I exerted upon 
him, the pleasure Miss Barbara took in my com - 
pany, and of the continual benefaction I was to 
Miss Marcia. As the Spring opened the latter 
bourgeoned into likeness to normal, healthy, 
young ladyhood. Besides being the prize pupil 


340 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


in every one of her classes, she dressed and 
behaved — as her brutally impertinent mates in- 
formed her — cc more like folks and less like a 
Phenomenon. ,, They still called her “ Phee,” 
but ridiculed her no longer. She had come down 
from her stilts in conversation ; she had had her 
Spring frocks made by a regular mantua-maker ; 
she begged to be allowed to do Miss Barbara's 
marketing and did it well, leaving home half an 
hour earlier every morning for this purpose. On 
several occasions she had brought roses to school 
with her, purchased from a flower stand in the 
Sixth Street market. These she kept in a vase 
upon her desk, smilingly but firmly refusing to 
part with one of them to the importunate beggars 
for “ just one teeny rosebud.” 

“ Stingy old thing ! ” ejaculated Annie Gleason, 
after pleading in vain for a glorious Luxembourg 
tea-rose that looked, as she declared, “ sweet 
enough to eat.” “ But I forgive you ! I know 
who gives them to you. I’ve found you out ! ” 

To my amazement Miss Marcia colored so 
furiously as to start the water to her pale eyes, 
and her simper was an embarrassed failure. 


Wedding Favors 


34i 


Annie clapped her hands and pointed a detec- 
tive finger at her. 

“ Look ! look ! I knew I was right ! Girls ! 
Phee has a beau! It’s old Mr. Vinton — clerk 
of the market. I heard father say that his wife 
died just before Christmas. A very respectable 
old fellow he is, they tell me. He has held his 
office since the year One, and must have laid up 
money. You might do worse, Phee ! ” 

Miss Marcia's face was like the heart of a 
mangel-wurzel beet by now, and I interposed, 
patting my protegee's angular shoulder patroniz- 
ingly : _ 

“ Let her alone, Annie ! She will look higher. 
I'm in her confidence ! ” 

Whereat Miss Marcia turned suddenly to wind 
her long arms about my waist and to hide her 
face on my breast. A champion was still a 
delightful novelty to her. The situation was 
awkward in itself, and the girls' laughter added to 
the unpleasantness, but I bore up bravely. It 
was noble to bear ridicule for self-righteousness' 
sake. 

There was certainly nothing in the crisp kisses 


34 2 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


of the March breeze to recall the absurd scene to 
me, but I was smiling over it at the tenth turn of 
the terrace, when somebody called, “ Molly, oh y 
Molly Burwell ! ” and a gorgeous apparition ran 
toward me, holding out two white-kid hands. 

She wore a changeable silk dress — purple and 
gold ; her short cloak was white, as was her 
bonnet. Had she been placarded “ Bride ” in 
letters a foot long, her recent nuptials would not 
have been more conspicuously advertised. 

“ Sidney Page ! ” I cried in amazed recognition. 

“ Mrs. Thomas Garlick, if you please 1 ” — 
with the petulant grimace I recollected so well. 
“Tom! come here!” This to a man loitering 
sheepishly at the other end of the path. “ Miss 
Molly Burwell, — Tom, — my week-old hus- 
band ! ” 

Tom’s bashful laugh was a bleat, worthy of a 
wealthy and well-fed wool grower. 

“ Happy to meet you, Miss Burwell ! Have 
often heard Sid — Mrs. Garlick — talk about 
you ! ” 

He was a big fellow with broad shoulders and a 
brick-red face. In baring his head he revealed a 


Wedding Favors 


343 


thick thatch of gingery hair. He, too, wore 
white gloves. They gave his hands the aspect of 
canvas-covered Smithfield hams. His clothes 
were blatantly new ; the black satin vest was 
embroidered in a pattern of pink-and-blue morn- 
ing-glories. As the pair stood in the unflattering 
March sunshine, nurses and children huddled 
into an admiring group and gaped and pointed at 
the “ bridal couple.” 

“How surprised you look!” Sidney rattled 
away, hardly waiting to receive my incoherent 
congratulations. “ Didn’t you see it in the 
papers? We had it put in all of them.” 

“ It ” had escaped my eye, as I told her, 
and that I thought it strange none of the 
schoolgirls had mentioned it. 

She was visibly disappointed. 

“ That’s all friends are worth ! I counted 
upon being a nine days’ talk ; at least I had 
a right to expect it after all the rumpus there 
was last year over that affair with Len Brooks. 
Tom ! did I ever tell you that this sarcastic 
young lady called him c Babbling Brooks ’ ? ” 

Tom bleated again. 


344 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


“ Pretty good, I declare ! ” 

His wife gave him a little shove : — 

“ Run along, honey, and smoke a cigar over 
yonder ! ” pointing to the lower grounds. 
“ Molly and I want to have a little chat all 
alone by ourselves. I’ll beckon to you when 
you can come back. So keep an eye on me. 

“ Not that it’s necessary to tell him that ! ” 
she continued, Tom having made his bow and 
walked off, feeling in one pocket for a cigar, in 
another for a match. “ He’s so afraid of losing 
me again that he makes a bigger goose of him- 
self than Nature made him, and he’ll never set 
James River on fire. If he could, he wouldn’t 
suit me.” 

She slipped her hand into my arm and we 
began to pace the terrace in the old, old way. 
Sidney heaved a semi-sentimental sigh. 

“ How natural it is to be walking here with 
you ! I was perfectly crazy to have you for 
one of my bridesmaids, but Aun’ Parke wouldn’t 
hear of it. She and Unc’ Parke had got it into 
their heads that you were mixed up in that elope- 
ment scrape, and nothing could drive it out.” 


Wedding Favors 


345 


“You did mean to elope, then; you said 
nothing to me about it that Saturday evening ! ” 
“Was just afraid to, child! Len said you 
might be useful to us in some way when I told 
him how romantic and poetical and all that 
sort of thing you were. But I knew you had 
strict notions about obedience and telling the 
truth in season and out of season. You mightn’t 
have told on us and spoiled our fun, but you 
wouldn’t lie to help us along. So we made 
up our minds to run away to Washington on 
our own hook, as you might say. I packed 
my trunk that Sunday night when, as Provi- 
dence had it, Sue Patton was away, visiting 
her sister. Big Belle says she entered my room 
on that fatal Monday morning accidentally, and 
accidentally found that my trunk was locked, 
and accidentally looked out of the window and 
spied me and Len at the gate. Accidental cat’s 
foot ! She smelled a mouse then, and Unc’ 
Parke had smelled another in Hanover on Sun- 
day, and they put their heads together just in 
time to pitch all our fat into the fire. Job — 
the Nunhams’ dining-room servant, you know 


346 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


— had been paid five dollars by Len to get 
my trunk downstairs that evening while they 
were all at supper, and had the promise of five 
more when the trunk was on the carriage and 
we in it. It was beautifully arranged ! ” 

“You are not sorry the plan failed?” de- 
manded I, for she had sighed again — a whole 
long sigh. 

“ No-o-o ! not exactly sorry! Yes — honey 
pie ! ” 

This to Tom who, a hundred yards away, had 
thrown a kiss to her. She returned it from the 
tip of a white-kidded forefinger. 

“Not sorry, of course. But I always had 
a hankering after an elopement, and there is 
something fascinating in being courted by a 
really wicked man. I tell you there was a row 
with Unc' and Aun’ Parke, and the Nunhams, 
and all ! I ain't overly thin-skinned, but some 
of the fire and brimstone went through to the 
quick. I got right ill with it all, and Aun' 
Parke took me travelling until I was over the 
worst of it. She certainly was mighty good to 
me. She took me to New York on our way 


Wedding Favors 


347 


home, and let me buy loads of new clothes and 
things. There wasn’t another girl in the county 
who had a nicer wardrobe. Then she gave me 
a beautiful c turning-out party,’ and everything 
went as smooth as oil. Of course I was as 
smart as she, and saw through it all. But it 
showed me how much I really cared for what 
the good books call c pomps and vanities,’ 
and that I wasn’t willing to live without 
them — 

“ I do declare that fool boy has smoked that 
cigar clean out, and is motioning to ask if I 
ain’t most ready ! He smokes like a kitchen 
chimney ! ” 

She put her fingers to her mouth and went 
through the pantomime of lighting a cigar. 
Tom nodded, and dived again into his pockets. 

“ He is well trained ! ” I remarked. 

“ He’d better be ! I led him a dance when 
he tried to warm up the old soup. I was 
bound to get some satisfaction out of somebody 
for what I’d gone through with. I meant all 
the time to marry him as much as Aun’ Parke 
meant to have me do it. Well ! I had my 


348 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


fling and trained him, as you say, while I was 
doing it. When he’d follow me at my call, and 
£ come in ’ and £ down charge ’ and all the 
rest of the dog tricks, I said, c yes.’ Aun’ 
Parke gave me a splendid outfit — clothes and 
linen and furniture — and a bang-out wedding, 
and here we are on our bridal-Zaw^r / I nearly 
killed myself laughing at Tom’s face when I 
made him believe that the trunk my best dresses 
were packed in was the same I meant to take 
with me if I had run away with Len Brooks. 
He got quite dangerous ! I think he would 
have chopped it to pieces if I had not unde- 
ceived him. By the way, do you ever see or 
hear anything of our particular friend, Babbling 
Brooks ? ” 

££ He was never my friend ! ” She might 
not mind referring to the scandalous passage 
in her life, but I did, and showed that I did. 
££ I see him now and then on the street.” 

“Does he ever ask after me?” — in genuine 
curiosity that had not a trace of sentiment in 
it. 


£C I never speak to him. 1 


Wedding Favors 349 

“ Humph ! How does he look ? Battered ? ” 
— chucklingly. 

“He always looked like a battered black- 
guard ! ” with rising spirit. “ Every year tells 
upon a man of his stamp. He begins to look 
old” 

“ Poor fellow ! He must have been horribly 
mortified ! I’ve no doubt he was teased out of 
his senses by men who hadn't such reputations 
as lady-killers as he had. I'd like to laugh over 
the affair with him. Tom swears with a double 
‘ d' that he'll horsewhip him if he ever so much 
as bows to me on the street. 

“ Good gracious ! can that be five o'clock 
striking? I must go ! We leave for the North 
to-morrow morning. I'm mighty glad we hap- 
pened to meet you. Funny, wasn’t it? I’d like 
to have you pay me a visit sometime, but I sup- 
pose 'twouldn't be quite safe as long as there’s 
any danger of Unc' Parke's cutting me out of his 
will if I do anything to make him mad. We've 
got to look out for the loaves and fishes, you 
know ; and he thinks you're to blame for most 
of my carryings-on with poor Len. He told 


350 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


Aiin’ Parke that you were the brazenest young 
one he’d ever seen, in court or out. 

“ Now, I must really whistle up my pointer 
and be off. We’re going to the theatre to- 
night.” 

“ Frederic, dear ! ” said I, leaning confidingly 
upon the strong arm that never failed me, as we 
walked up Franklin Street through the rapidly 
cooling air — “by what devious ways we are led, 
yet how safely ! I was heartbroken less than a 
year ago because I had to give up my bosom 
friend. I see her now as she is — vain, vulgar, 
heartless, fickle, and mercenary. The scales have 
fallen from my eyes. I tremble to think that I 
might have sunk to her level — ” 

A gentle pressure of the hand that lay upon 
my lover’s coat-sleeve checked me. 

a That could hardly be,” said manly accents. 
cc But I am thankful that you have been spared 
the suffering which would have followed the 
awakening from the girlish dream. Wisdom 
comes with years.” 

I had been in my fifteenth year for six 
months, lacking fifteen days ! 



Chapter XVIII 

Jonah’s Gourd 

€€ Earth bears no balsam for mistakes ; 

Men crown the knave, and scourge the tool 
That did his will : but Thou, O Lord, 

Be merciful to me, a Fool ! * 1 

— Edward Rowland Sill. 

Miss BARBARA'S front door was never 
locked in the day-time when she was at home. 
It was not bolted to-day and yielded to my 
touch. I entered the hall with the freedom of 
an habitue of the house, a liberty I should not 
think of taking nowadays in my own daughter's 
house. 


35 


352 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


“ Pull the string and the latch will fly ! ” and 
“ Come when you like ! The latch-string is 
always on the outside ” — were hackneyed prov- 
erbs in Old Virginia for so long that the niceties 
of knocking and ringing for permission to cross 
the threshold of friend, or neighbor, were neg- 
lected. In this respect the former times were 
not better than these. 

I was not guilty, then, of unwarrantable intru- 
sion when I crossed the hall to the front parlor, 
thinking I heard voices within, and expecting to 
find my hostess there entertaining a visitor. The 
room was untenanted, and darkened by shutters 
and curtains. A space, several inches wide, be- 
tween the leaves of the folding doors separating 
the two rooms, let in gleams of firelight from the 
rear parlor. The talking was in there. With 
no thought of eavesdropping, I approached the 
lighted crack. The tableau I beheld through it 
had the proportions of a panel picture. I with- 
drew the hand that was about to shove back the 
door. 

A wood fire blazed joyously in the chimney, 
from which the winter grate had been removed 


Jonah's Gourd 


353 


a week before. Upon the rug stood Major 
Peachy, with an arm about Miss Marcia’s waist. 
H is face was upraised to look into hers, she 
being the taller of the two, and he was actually 
in a broad grin ! No other word covers the con- 
tortion that was more than a smile and not quite 
a laugh. It was his voice I had heard : — 

“You haven’t paid me for them yet!” he said, 
feigning to snatch at a big bunch of roses in her 
hand. 

She held it out of his reach with ease. She 
had only to stretch her arm above her head. 
And she, too, was laughing silently, turning her 
face aside coquettishly. If she had averted it 
after the manner of the conventional modest 
maiden, her lips would have been more 
accessible. 

For, that a kiss was the price of the bouquet 
was patent to my unsophisticated perceptions. 
I had seen people play at love-making often 
enough to know the genuine performance at 
sight. I fled incontinently, and as noiselessly 
as I had entered. At the outer door of the 
darkened parlor I heard the price paid — a 


354 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


“ smack ” as disgusting to my sensibilities as the 
Major’s grin had been. 

I dropped upon the topmost stair of the 
flight leading to the landing, and sat, shivering 
and flushing, ready to cry or to laugh, as the 
scale might turn. A love scene between a man, 
who, from my point of view, had one foot in 
the grave in which he was believed to have 
buried his heart with his wife twenty years agone, 
and an erudite bean pole like the Phenomenon, 
was enough to provoke Triphonious to a guffaw. 
Yet I felt angry, and, in some sort, outraged 
— personally insulted. I had respected Miss 
Marcia, had defended and patronized her, had 
believed in her high ideals and singleness of 
heart. And here she was doing the cc giggle 
and make giggle ” act satirized by her gentle 
Cowper, as if she had never crossed the pons 
asinorum , or heard of Helicon and Parnassus ! 
Major Peachy was beneath contempt. In my 
wrath I called him a “ hortus siccus and cast a 
wistful and most un-Presbyterian thought toward 
honest, unsanctified Tom Garlick and his wrath- 
ful double “d.” The Phenomenon was an 


JonaJis Gourd 


355 


ungrateful traitor to fair science and to me, who 
had brought her into Miss Barbara's house. I 
was responsible for her ! The conviction stole 
like a slender icicle into my soul. 

A stealthy movement in the lower hall made 
me look down. A faint light from the outer 
twilight stole through the fanlight over the 
front door. I knew the outlines of Cleopatra's 
figure as she passed from the rear hall to the 
front, and into the darkened parlor. She stayed 
there fully three minutes. Then she came out 
and struck a match on the floor to light the 
hall lamp, muttering audibly. Before she could 
glance upward, I was on my feet and at the 
door of Miss Barbara's room. Warned by 
recent misadventures, I tapped on the panel, 
but so lightly that the sound was lost in a 
pleasant crooning from within. I pushed the 
door ajar and listened. A noble fire of logs 
crackled and roared in the chimney, and filled 
the room with red light. Miss Barbara leaned 
back in a rocking-chair in front of it, her feet 
upon a cushioned stool, singing softly and happily 
to herself. Words and air were familiar to me 


35 6 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


from hearing Cousin Molly Belle sing them at 
the piano. Miss Barbara’s voice was a rich 
contralto and, mellowed by her mood, harmo- 
nized well with the shine and song of the fire. 
She was crooning the second verse as I pushed 
the door open : — 

<( Then come to me ! our theme shall be 
The friends we love, not those we mourn ; 

We’ll not destroy a present joy 
Lamenting joys that ne’er return. 

The ardent rays of early days 

And youthful bloom we ne’er may see. 

But days of bright and pure delight 
May be in store — then come to me ! ” 

I pulled the door shut and knocked more 
loudly. 

“ Come in ! ” cried her heartsome voice. She 
raised herself up and glanced over her shoulder 
at my entrance. “Ah, Mousie! I thought I 
should see you. Well ! here is the old lady 
tied by the foot, as you see ! ” 

I saw, and was shocked to perceive that her 
ankle and foot were bandaged, and laid upon 
the pillow I had mistaken for an ordinary 
cushion. 


Jonah's Gourd 


357 


She smiled at my exclamation : — 

“ I managed to tread upon a marble left by a 
boy on the sidewalk this morning, and tumbled 
down, turning my ankle as I sprawled. Bob 
Haxall put it to rights again as far as he could, 
and sentenced me to my room and a footstool 
for a week at least. You must run in to see 
me every day — visit the spinster and the father- 
less in her affliction. Take off your hat and 
shawl, and sit down. There’s a chair c just 
a-honin’ ’ for you. Don’t pity me ! I was never 
more comfortable in all my days. I have such 
a capital excuse for being as lazy as I know 
how to be. And look at that fire ! Isn’t that 
enough of itself to put one into a good humor 
with life ? ” 

“ Mark Tapley ? ” laughed I, cuddling close 
to her. 

Her high good humor was contagious. I 
would say nothing to her of what I had seen 
downstairs. After all — what business was it 
of mine ? If the Major, at his age, was making 
a fool of himself and a bigger fool of Miss 
Marcia, it was only what widowers had done 


358 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


from time immemorial, and what they would 
keep on doing to the end of marrying and 
dying. Remarrying follows naturally upon be- 
reavement when the deceased is bone of one’s 
bone and flesh of one’s flesh. Men couldn’t be 
expected to live without bones and flesh. More- 
over, it was altogether likely that Miss Barbara 
was in her brother-in-law’s confidence. I had 
long ago discarded the idea that her devotion to 
him had anything more romantic in it than 
passionate loyalty to the memory of the sister 
who had been as a daughter to a lonely woman 
without other domestic ties. It was even pos- 
sible that she would not be averse to a connec- 
tion which would transfer to other and capable 
hands the duty of looking after Agnes’s husband 
in his declining years. I would not meddle 
with the making of the mixed family pie by 
the touch of a little finger. 

“ A penny for your thought, Sobersides ! ” 

The fillip upon the cheek I had rested upon 
the arm of her chair broke up my brown study. 

“ Something so funny happened to me this 
evening ! ” I began, and dashed off into a de- 


JonaJis Gourd 


359 


tailed report of my meeting with the Garlicks 
and the conclusions I had drawn from this, the 
finale of my intimacy with my quondam soul- 
sister. 

“ c Garlick ’ is a good old name in King 
William County,” remarked my attentive au- 
ditor. “Sidney has done better in taking Tom 
than her mother did in marrying Ran Parke — a 
dissipated, good-looking, good-for-nothing fellow, 
who never earned a pinch of salt in all his days, 
and left his widow and child to be supported by 
her kinfolks. Sidney ought to be wearing out 
the fronts of her wedding-skirts, kneeling down 
to return thanks every hour of the day that she 
was snatched, like a brand from the burning, out 
of the power of that rascally puppy, Len Brooks. 
— What is it, Cleo ? ” 

The mulatto was waiting respectfully for an 
available break in the flow of her mistress’s 
volubility. She advanced and dropped a cour- 
tesy, her hands folded demurely upon the belt of 
her clean checked apron. 

“ I was wishful to know who’ll have supper 
downstairs, and who up hyar, ma’am.” 


360 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


“ What’s to hinder Miss Molly and Miss 
Marcia and me from eating ours up here ? You 
don’t suppose I’m going to play sick because I 
can’t walk ? I think I see myself dieting on 
toast and tea, and eating off a waiter ! Send 
Antony up to set that table ” — designating a 
stand with falling “ leaves ” at the back of the 
room — “ and bring up a white woman’s supper 
— not a baby’s ! ” 

Cleopatra “ dipped” again. I caught a sly gleam 
from beneath the lids discreetly “ down-dropt.” 

“ Ya’as’m ! An’ Major Peachy ! Whar he 
gwine fer ter eat his’n ? ” 

“ Maj’ Peachy ! ” Miss Barbara looked 
pleased and moved. “Is he here already ? 
You see” — to me — “I wrote to him to-day, 
telling him that the sprain didn’t amount to 
anything, and saying I would be able to see him 
for a little while after supper if he could call. 
I suppose he feels anxious, although I made so 
light of it. He has just come — I suppose?” 
she added carelessly to Cleopatra. 

“ He come mor’n an ’our ago, ma’am.” 

“ And why was I not told? Upon my word, 


Jonah's Gourd 


361 

Cleo, you servants are beginning early to take 
advantage of my sprained foot ! ” 

Cleopatra was as stolid as the Needle that 
bears her name. 

“ Miss Marshy, she been let him in, ma’am. 
Dey been settin’ in th’ settin’ room alone by 
deyselves all this time.” 

A snicker was imperfectly smothered by a fold 
of the apron caught up as her risibles got the 
better of her. 

Miss Barbara sat upright and haughty. Dan- 
gerous lights gleamed in her eyes. 

“ What do you mean, Cleo ? You forget to 
whom you are talking, and of whom you are 
speaking ! ” 

With the swift transition from the comic to 
the tragic, characteristic of the race, the mulatto 
fell upon her knees and clutched her mistress’s 
hand. 

“ My dear mistis ! my sweet mistis ! you may 
kill me, but I can’ hole in no longer ! Ef ’t 
hadn’ been fo’ Antony, I’d ’a’ tole you de truth 
long time ago. Dey’s foolin’ you — dem two 
folks downstairs ! De very butchers is a-talkin* 


362 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


of thar cuarr’in’s on in market. How he meet 
her on de way dar eve’y single mornin’, and 
walk with her, and make b’lieve help her buy 
things for yo’ table, and buy flowers fur her to 
w’ar. Please don’ be mad with me, my blessed 
mistis ! I been b’long to you all my life, an’ I 
jes’ cyan’ byar fer ter see you ’posed upon. He 
come soon dis evenin’, ’cause he knowed you 
was upsta’rs and he could have free co’se and be 
glorified, ez you may say. 

“ I done see ’em a-settin’ dar befo’ de fire, a- 
kissin’, an’ his arm ’roun’ her waist — her what 
you done pick up outen de streets, ez a person 
mought say ! My sugar-plum-pie mistis ! ef 
you don’ b’lieve me, jes’ you call ’em bofe up 
hy’ur, an’ I’ll tell ’em all I been say to you — 
an’ a heap mo’ to dey deceitful faces ! ” 

She was sobbing in the vehemence of the 
revelation. The outpour would have defied any 
attempt to check it, and none was made. I 
stood aghast and dumb ; Miss Barbara had 
fallen back in her chair, shaking in a nervous 
chill, and as pale as a corpse. 

“ My God ! ” she said, in a strained, unnatural 


Jonah! s Gourd 


363 


voice, raising her clasped hands high in air. 
<c Have I lived for this? Father of mercies! 
Is there no pity in earth, or in heaven ? ” 

The chill seized her with redoubled violence. 
Cleopatra ran for hartshorn and brandy ; I cov- 
ered the frozen hands, now limp and shaking, 
with my own, and tried to chafe them into 
warmth. My tears rained upon them with my 
kisses. 

It may have been the feeling of these — it was 
more probably native resolution — that restored 
her strength. The muscles contracted under my 
chafing ; I saw her eyes grow steady. When 
Cleopatra returned with restoratives, her mistress 
took the bottle of hartshorn from her, and waved 
away the glass of brandy-and-water. 

“ That sprain knocked me harder than I 
thought ! ” she said, and the voice was her own. 
“ I have not had a nervous spell before for many 
years. I shall be all right again in a few minutes. 
Cleo ! tell Antony to have supper in the dining 
room for — the others — and bring me up a cup 
of coffee. What is it, Mousie ? ” for I was 
squeezing her hand appealingly. 


364 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


“ Please ! please ! let me have mine here with 
you ! ” I whispered. 

She smiled drearily : — 

“ If you like, Molly ! Cleo ! Miss Molly 
Burwell will stay with me. Bring her the nicest 
supper you can make up. Say to Major 
Peachy ” — tone and look were full of quiet 
dignity — “that Miss Allen regrets she cannot 
see him this evening, and that she is much 
obliged to him for calling to ask how she is. 
That is all ! You may go ! ” 

Silence fell between us two when the servant 
had gone. I dared not look at my companion, 
but I laid my head against her knees, my arm 
thrown across her lap. She sat perfectly still. 
There was no ground-swell after the storm. 

The lire was as jubilant as ever over the 
destruction of what had been kings of the forest 
last summer. To my excited fancy it went on 
with the accompaniment of the song Miss Bar- 
bara was singing when I came in. Against my 
will, I traced the theme in the rhythmic rush up 
the chimney-throat, and the words formed them- 
selves above it : — 


Jonah's Gourd 


365 


“ I will not let one sad regret. 

One gloomy doubt, our meeting chill ; 

But for thy sake I’ll try to make 
This altered cheek look cheerful still.* * 

“ Molly ! ” Cleo must have been gone all of ten 
minutes when my name was spoken. 

“ Yes, Miss Barbara ! ” I did not look 
up. 

“ You know how to hold your tongue. I can 
trust you not to tattle about what has happened 
to-night. The fall and the sprain and pain must 
have thrown my nerves out of plumb. And I 
am not as young as I used to be. Things make 
more difference, and I don’t bear surprises as 
well — as when I was younger. Major Peachy 
— my brother-in-law — has a right to manage 
his own affairs. He is an honorable gentleman, 
and if what Cleo told me is true, he means to 
marry again. I have been thinking it all over 
while I sat here, mumchance, instead of enter- 
taining the little girl who gives me so much of 
her time. Many things have come back to me 
which convince me that Cleo is right. I ought 
to have seen how it was before this. 


366 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


“ I have a terrible temper ! ” Her laugh was 
less successful than her talk. “And what with 
the pain of my ankle, and the jar to the nervous 
system, and the prospect of being laid up for 
weeks with my foot on a chair instead of paddling 
me to and fro, and going up and down in the 
earth — it is not wonderful that my temper got 
away from me when I found that my friends had 
arranged their little affair without taking me into 
their confidence. Maybe they were afraid I 
might not approve. I must coax — or bully 
them — into telling me all about it — and set 
their minds at rest. 

“ When I am strong enough to keep my 
temper and my tongue inside of my teeth ! ” 
She said it with frequent pauses, but unfal- 
teringly, like one arranging the plan of a cam- 
paign. Then there was another long silence. 
The fire droned and throbbed the accompani- 
ment to Then, come to me l 

“ Do you recollect ” — Miss Barbara began 
again — “what I said last fall about Jonah and 
the booth he built, and the gourd the Lord 
caused to grow up in one night? Odd — isn’t 


JonaJis Gourd 


367 


it ? — how that story sticks in my mind ? Hand 
that Bible to me, please ! ” 

She opened it, and read aloud by the fire- 
light : — 

cc But God prepared a worm when the morning 
rose the next day , and it smote the gourd that it 
withered ” 

“ And if that wasn’t enough to punish the 
poor, blundering, faint-hearted goose who 
thought himself a prophet,” — Miss Barbara 
lowered the book to say, — “ hear what else 
happened ! 

cc And it came to pass , when the sun did arise , 
that God prepared a vehement east wind; and 
the sun heat upon the head of Jonah that he 
fainted , and wished in himself to die and said , 
‘It is better for me to die than to live.* 

“ And God said unto Jonah , c Does t thou well 
to be angry for the gourd ? ’ And he said , c I do 
well to be angry , even unto death ! 9 99 

She gave the book back to me and I laid 
it in its place on a stand just below the portrait 
of the gallant young officer who had jilted her 
to marry her sister. 


368 When Grandmamma was Fourteeji 


“Somehow, my sympathies were always with 
Jonah ! ” commented Miss Barbara. “ He was 
such a blunderbore and got into so many 
scrapes, and was such a stupid scholar ! Yet, 
three days and three nights in the dark, out 
of sight of land and sky, ought to have cured 
him of some of his wrong-headedness. Some 
people never learn better — even with whales 
and worms, and hot suns, and blistering east 
winds for teachers.” 

“ Poor Jonah ! ” I mused, not thinking of 
him at all. “No wonder he got angry enough 
to answer the Lord back ! ” 

Dick was to call for me at half-past seven. 
Miss Barbara and I had our tete-a-tete supper, 
a not uncheerful meal in appearance. Miss 
Marcia had run up to see “ how our brave in- 
valid is faring,” and to express gratification that 
I was “with her to win her to temporary for- 
getfulness of pain.” Miss Barbara received 
her kindly — she was seldom effusively affection- 
ate — and sent her down “to see that the Major 
was taken care of — ” I, unable to emulate her 
perfect breeding, making believe to look for a 


Jonah's Gourd 


369 


volume in a corner book-case. Neither of us 
made further mention of the matter which had 
agitated us earlier in the evening until I was 
tying my bonnet-strings. Then Miss Barbara 
remarked, quite in her ordinary tone and 
manner : — 

“ I am glad you happened to be here, Molly ! 
But for that I should have made a yet bigger 
idiot of myself.” 

cc Oh, you couldn't ! ” I cried, bungling in my 
haste to controvert her dispraise of herself. 

She bowed in mock gratitude. 

“ Thank you ! ” 

We were still laughing over the luckless 
reply I meant should be comforting, when An- 
tony knocked at the door. 

“ A gentleman is waiting with a carriage for 
Miss Burwell.” 

“ Dick is doing things in fine style ! ” I said, 
and kissed my hostess “ Good night ! ” 

Passing the back room on tip-toe, I went 
into the front where my escort awaited me. 



Chapter XIX 

My Convert 

“ I am a tainted wether of the flock, 

Meetest for death ; the weakest kind of fruit 
Drops earliest to the ground ; and so let me !” 

— Merchant of Venice. 

INSTEAD of Dick Carter, his brother-in-law 
advanced to meet me, — a personable, well set-up 
gentleman of whose escort any woman might be 
proud. 

“ Cousin Frank ! ” cried I, in astonishment. 
“ Where did you come from ? And where is 
Dick ? ” 

“At home in bed with an awful headache, a 
regular out-and-outer! Luckily he had the 
tickets. So here am I as his unworthy sub- 
stitute.” 


370 


My Convert 


3 7i 


He spoke so gayly that I scanned him in 
suspicion : — 

“ Something mighty pleasant has happened ! I 
know it from your looks. What is it ? " 

“ It is a mighty pleasant and a mighty unusual 
happening for an old married man to be allowed 
to take the nicest girl he knows to a concert of 
fine music. Try not to look disappointed if you 
do feel so ! Allow me ! " 

He stooped to button my glove with an exag- 
geration of gallantry. 

“ That's nonsense, and you know it ! ” returned 
I, impatiently. “ I’d rather go with you than 
with forty Dicks or any other boy. But why 
didn't you bring Cousin Molly Belle? Was 
Dick so sick that she had to stay with him ? " 

“ He is sound asleep and doesn’t need her. 
But she had no ticket. She sent her love, and 
you are to listen for her as well as for yourself, 
and have a royally good time." 

Had he been less fond of music, or had the 
concert been indifferent, his benevolent heart 
would have been abundantly compensated for all 
drawbacks by the sight of my undisguised enjoy- 


37 2 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


ment. I liked Dick and found him amusing 
always, but I loved Cousin Frank and admired 
him so much that the monopoly of his society 
and attentions for a whole evening transported 
me to the third heaven of girlish delight. More 
than one acquaintance glanced smilingly from my 
radiant face to his, kind, and animated by sym- 
pathy in my fulness of happiness. More than 
once I laughed out low and joyously between the 
musical numbers. It was transporting to be 
there and to sit between my very favoritest kins- 
man and my Frederic! For, although the house 
was very full, there chanced to be a vacant chair 
at my right hand, Cousin Frank sitting next to 
the aisle, and in this I promptly installed my 
lover. In all that fashionable audience he was 
the most distingue in appearance, and the most 
appreciative of the music I drank in as a thirsty 
pilgrim cooling waters. Even then soul, spirit, 
and sense revelled in the music-bath which, in 
later years, was to soothe and invigorate mental 
and nervous forces, times without number. Be- 
cause music is to me a fount of healing — a 
spiritual spa — I am never critical of style and 


My Convert 


373 


performance, unless the motif and the spirit be 
wanting. To relax the tension of thought, to 
forget the need of action for one blissful hour, 
in hearkening to music, as a weary man lays him 
down in a sun-warmed brook and resigns every 
sense to the voluptuous enjoyment of the rippling 
flow of the waves over his tired limbs — this is 
my regimen for the “ nerve-tire ” that baffles 
medical skill. 

“ I think all the time of — 

“ ‘ Who, as they sung, would take the prisoned soul 
And lap it in Elysium,’ ” — 

whispered I to Cousin Frank as the orchestra 
concluded Beethoven’s Spirit Waltzes . “And 
of — 

“ ‘There shall I bathe my weary soul 
In seas of heavenly rest.’ 

<c I think that must mean seas of music — 
c harpers harping with their harps,’ and the 
c Hallelujah Chorus.’ ” 

He smiled down indulgently at me. Frederic 
pressed my hand under cover of a fold of my 
skirt. 

I was entirely and supremely content. 


374 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


Cousin Molly Belle was waiting for us when 
we got home. It was almost twelve o’clock, 
for the programme was long and there were 
numerous encores. Her dear eyes looked tired, 
and I exclaimed at the cruelty of keeping her 
up. 

“At my age it matters little,” she answered. 
“You must make up for the loss of beauty 
sleep by lying in bed in the morning until you 
are quite ready to get up. Now, you must eat a 
biscuit and drink a glass of milk, and be off to 
your room. You can tell me all about the 
concert to-morrow.” 

In spite of my happy excitement and the agi- 
tating events of the day, I fell asleep as soon as 
I lay down, and knew nothing until awakened by 
voices in the hall. I opened my eyes upon 
broad daylight, but it was still so early that the 
talking outside my door and the muffled bustle 
in other parts of the house were unseasonable. I 
jumped up and opened the door a very little way. 

Two men were going downstairs. I could not 
see them, but I knew Dr. Haxall’s voice : — 

“ He must have been going it hard for. a long 


My Convert 


375 


time ! This is the climax of a big spree. He 
may have tried to pull up too suddenly — poor 
boy ! I’ll be in again at nine o'clock/’ 

At the front door he stopped to say : — 

“ By the way, Mr. Morton, keep your wife 
out of the room. Such scenes are not fit for a 
woman's eyes — especially for the eyes of a 
loving sister. Good morning ! " 

I groped my way back to bed blindly, and fell 
upon it — sick all through, and horribly fright- 
ened ! 

Dick had broken his pledge to me — sworn 
upon Marion's ring! He was a drunkard ! He 
would break his mother's and his sister's hearts 
and be a disgrace to us all ! This was what his 
headache had meant ! 

And I had plumed myself upon the belief that 
I had reformed him ! It was characteristic of my 
fantastic imagination that the bitter chagrin of the 
thought was coupled with the story of Whitefield's 
(or was it Wesley's ?) answer to the tipsy fellow 
who reminded him that he was one of the revival- 
ist's “ converts.” 

“ Very likely ! you look like a bit of journey- 


376 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


work ! It's plain to be seen the Master had 
nothing to do with it ! ” 

Then the horror of the truth swallowed every 
other thought. 

I learned the details later. Dick had been 
brought home, dead-drunk, about sunset of the 
preceding day. His brother-in-law and the 
butler had put him to bed, where he lay like a log 
until three o’clock in the morning. Then he 
aroused Cousin Frank in the adjoining room by 
screaming that he was pursued by hobgoblins. 
Dr. Haxall was summoned, and they had been 
working over him ever since. 

These things I gathered later in the day, as I 
have said. If I live and recollect until I am a 
hundred years old, I shall never lose the mem- 
ory of my frightful awakening on that March 
morning. 

I comprehended everything marvellously well 
for a child whose knowledge of drunkenness was 
gained from chance sights upon the public streets, 
and hearsay stories of negroes who contrived 
occasionally to get tipsy upon stolen hard cider or 
peach brandy. What I neither comprehended, nor 


My Convert 


377 


appreciated, was the effort the unhappy boy had 
made to shake off his enemy — the frenzied flight 
to his sister’s home, as a bleeding wild thing seeks 
the covert in which he was born and reared, as 
the one haven he can think of when the hunter is 
at his heels. 

I reflected, in an agony of admiration and com- 
passion, upon the pious deceptions practised on 
me the evening before. I knew, as well as if I 
had hearkened to their talk, how husband and 
wife had plotted to give me in full measure the 
enjoyment I had anticipated. I even divined how 
nearly Cousin Frank had overdone his part and 
drawn forth my artless query as to the cc mighty 
pleasant something ” which had made him so gay. 
Running all this over in my mind, my swelling 
heart melted into tears. I buried my face in the 
pillow to stifle my sobs lest Mary ’Liza should be 
awakened and make inconvenient inquiries. 

She was already awake. An arm was laid 
over my shaking form, and a gentle voice 
asked : — 

“ What is it, Molly, darling? ” 

I do not think she ever called me “ darling” 


378 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


in all her life except then. She was a pattern 
of propriety, and not prone to yield to impulses 
of any kind. She was the rather inclined to 
elder-cousinly criticism of the adopted sister 
whose utter dissimilarity to her exemplary self 
argued the existence of much that was reprehen- 
sible in my make-up. We had never been 
confidantes. Indeed, I doubt if she ever ex- 
changed heart confidences with any one, even 
with my mother, who had brought her up from 
her babyhood. She and I seldom quarrelled 
now. There was a period when I nearly hated 
her for always doing the right thing while I was 
as prone to the wrong as the sparks to fly up- 
ward when the fire is stirred. We had outgrown 
childish feuds ; agreed to disagree upon most, 
if not all non-essential, points, and never to dis- 
cuss essentials. 

The unwonted caress tore down the wall of 
separation for the time. I forsook the pillow 
for her shoulder, and sobbed aloud: — 

“ Dick ! Dick ! Dick ! ” I wailed. “ He’s 
drunk! He has delirium tremens ! I heard Dr. 
Haxall talking about it just now ! ” 


My Convert 


379 


She patted my head and stroked back my 
hair from my forehead. 

“ There ! there ! don’t cry ! Cousin Molly 
Belle will hear you ! And we must pretend 
not to know ! ” 

Then she told me the particulars of the early 
stage of the attack as I sketched them just now. 
The door of our room was open when Cousin 
Frank and the man-servant supported Dick up 
the stairs and to his chamber. Mary ’Liza had 
seen his face and heard him try to talk. 
Cousin Molly Belle, hearing the disturbance, 
had run out into the hall. Her husband had 
bidden her “ Go away,” and said in so many 
words — “ He is drunk , dear! You can do 
nothing ! ” 

cc I shut the door very softly,” concluded 
Mary ’Liza. “ Fortunately, there was no light 
in here, and they did not see me. I was sure 
they would not wish me to know anything of 
the dreadful matter. He is her brother, you 
see. It would be painful for her to discuss his 
condition with anybody who is not as nearly re- 
lated to him. So, when she said at the supper- 


380 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


table that Dick had gone to bed with a sick 
headache, and that Cousin Frank was going 
with you to the concert in his place, I behaved 
as if I had seen nothing. The kindest thing 
we can do is to act just as usual, no matter how 
sorry we may be for her and for Dick.” 

This was magnanimous in Mary 'Liza, for 
Dick had never disguised his indifference to 
her, or his decided partiality for my society. I 
blazed up indignantly : — 

“ I am not sorry for him one bit ! He should 
be ashamed of himself! He is a disgrace to 
us all. I wish he would go away and not 
show himself in Virginia again ! ” 

We were sitting up in bed. Mary 'Liza’s 
hair was banded smoothly under the border of a 
muslin night-cap embroidered by herself ; the 
ruffles at her throat and wrists still retained 
traces of the crimping-iron, although she had 
slept in the cambric gown for two nights. We 
“ changed ” on Sundays and Thursdays. My elf- 
locks had wriggled from under my cap on all 
sides ; my frills were creased and limp. My 
cheeks were all blubbered with crying ; hers 


My Convert 


3 ^ 

were as fair and smooth as satin-finish, cream- 
laid writing-paper. 

She shook her head wisely. Her senses were 
as orderly as her apparel. She could lay her 
hand upon any article in her bureau-drawers at 
any hour of the night without the help of a 
candle. Her wits were laid in neat rows, and 
labelled. She drew them forth now without 
missing an ethic. 

“ There must be something in the drinking 
habit we don't understand, Molly ! Something 
mysterious and terrible. Dick means well. He 
is kind-hearted. He loves his parents and his 
sister. Yet — he — will — drink ! He has every- 
thing to lose and nothing to gain by the habit, 
— his profession, his health, his reputation, his 
friends. Yet — he — will — drink ! I cannot 
comprehend it ! ” 

I have heard scores of temperance lecturers 
since that time. None of them — not even 
John B. Gough — put the case more patly and 
succinctly than the sixteen-year-old schoolgirl 
stated it. I looked at her with new-born 
respect. Since I have seen so much more of 


382 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


the workings of the dread mystery that defied us 
then, my respect approximates reverence. 

We went on with the discussion in whispers 
while we dressed for the meal at which we must 
meet our cousins. I was still bitter; Mary 'Liza 
was still charitable. True, she knew nothing of 
the vow made upon Marion’s heart-ring by the 
moonlighted window in the upper hall that 
Christmas night when, to our excited fancy, the 
doxology sung below-stairs was caught up by 
listening angels. 

“ I suppose she is singing it up there ! ” Dick 
had said, his rapt face uplifted as if listening. 

And he had sunk below the level of the beasts 
that perish ! 

As we had foreseen, we were told that Dick 
was very ill — “ with something like brain- 
fever ! ” said Cousin Molly Belle, with quivering 
lips. 

I stared the eloping Chinese lovers on the 
willow pattern on my plate out of countenance. 
Mary ’Liza offered to keep the children quiet in 
the dining room all the forenoon, that their noise 
might not reach the sick-chamber. She was 


My Convert 


383 


ever helpful in emergencies, and practical in 
suggestion. I would have made myself into a 
nursery-maid, or a doormat, for the babies, and 
cut off a finger to save their mother a pang. 
Yet it was my demure cousin who thought of the 
best and kindest thing to say and to do. 

When, in the fulness of time, she — as an 
exemplary parish-worker who carried her thirty- 
five years placidly and well — wedded a widower 
preacher with a ready-made family, her world and 
her church agreed that she had fulfilled her 
manifest destiny. 

Dick Carter lay at the gate of death for ten 
days. <c Alcoholic convulsions,” I overheard 
Dr. Haxall say to a consulting physician before 
he took him into the room. In the family, at 
school, and elsewhere abroad, we spoke of it with 
steady voice and countenance as <c brain fever.” 
When he was able to travel, his father and 
mother took him home in their private carriage. 
Such good reports of his cc convalescence ” were 
received by his sister within the next few months 
that her eye recovered its lustre, her step its 
elasticity, her voice had the old-time merry ring. 


384 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


It was September, and we were at our own 
home on our vacation, when the news fell like a 
thunderclap upon his friends that he had gone 
back to Philadelphia to arrange for resuming his 
medical studies, had met other students, and had 
plunged into an orgy that lasted three weeks. 
When he became sober, he joined an expedition 
of “ filibusters ” bound for Cuba. 

A blotted, remorseful scrawl to his mother, 
giving these facts and declaring his intention to 
clear a stained name by gallant daring, or never 
to see home and family again, was the last ever 
heard from, or of, him. He sleeps in a nameless 
grave. 

I have hurried over the closing chapter of a 
wasted life with scant ceremony. It would be 
painful and useless to dwell upon the details of 
the tragedy. Reviewing it, I say calmly what 
burst from my lips and heart at the news of his 
fall and flight : — 

“ Thank God for Marion’s death ! Had she 
lived, he would have broken her heart ! ” 



Chapter XX 

A Brave Lady 

“With silence only as their benediction, 

God’s angels come ; 

When in the shadow of a great affliction 

The soul sits dumb.” — Whittier. 

THERE was no public examination at the 
Nunnery at the close of the session in July. 
All arrangements were made for the most brill- 

385 



386 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


iant Commencement Richmond had ever seen. 
The cc crack ” music scholars had practised selec- 
tions, instrumental and vocal, for weeks ; prize 
essays were written and conned until the com- 
posers were at least letter-perfect. There was 
not one of us whose commencement-day dress 
was not finished to the last bow of ribbon. We 
were to dress in white, with blue and white 
sashes, and each would have a moss-rose bud 
stuck in her belt. 

Wednesday was to be the great day. A bustle 
of subdued excitement pervaded the schoolroom 
on Monday morning. We were all seated at 
our desks, Bibles open before us, when Mrs. 
Nunham arose in her place, dignified and 
gracious. A pretty flush touched her cheeks, 
her eyes shone benignantly : — 

<c It is with devout gratitude to an overruling 
and protecting Power that I invite your atten- 
tion, before the roll is called, to the circumstance 
that not one of our number is absent this morn- 
ing of those who signed their names to our rules 
and regulations on opening day last October. It 
behooves us to recognize in this the goodness 


A Brave Lady 


3 87 


that has exempted our band of teachers and 
pupils from serious disaster, and from death, 
throughout the session, the auspicious close of 
which is now so near. One and all should 
humbly and sincerely bear this blessed exemp- 
tion in grateful remembrance while we read 
together a psalm of thanksgiving. Please turn 
to the One Hundred and Third Psalm. The 
teachers and pupils will read alternate verses in 
unison.” 

Her clear, soft voice began: — 

<c Bless the Lord , O my soul , and all that is 
within me bless His Holy name l ” 

It was very solemn and very sweet. The 
veriest rattlepate there was serious and appar- 
ently devout. Here and there a hand stole up 
to wipe away a furtive tear ; young voices sank 
under the burden of feeling. The General stood 
at the head of the room, at the right of his wife’s 
chair, as still as stone, and straight as a bran-new 
poker. His body-coat was buttoned in very 
snugly at the waist, and let out very liberally 
over his chest. His blue-black chin was sup- 
ported by the military stock ; a triangle of white 


388 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


handkerchief peeped out from a breast pocket; 
his arms hung straight, his knees were stiff, and 
his toes turned out. His eyes were fixed upon 
the wall a foot above the door by which he had 
entered. 

“ But the mercy of the Lord is from everlasting 
to everlasting upon them that fear Him and His 
righteousness unto children s children ,” read Ma- 
dame, her step-daughters, and the “ joint chil- 
dren ” in their turn. 

The school responded : “ To such as keep His 
covenant and to those that remember His command- 
ments to do them .” 

“ PRESENT ! ” 

A voice that was strange to us all rang through 
the room and drew every eye to the General. 
He raised one hand to his head, as in salute to a 
superior officer, then swayed heavily forward. 

He was dead before his wife could reach him. 

The funeral was on Wednesday in St. Paul’s 
Church, where he had been a regular attendant. 
We girls wore our graduation-day frocks, with 
black ribbons instead of the blue and white. At 
Mrs. Nunham’s express request, we walked close 


A Brave Lady 


389 


behind the widow and daughters. The hearse 
was escorted by the Richmond Blues, of which 
ancient and honorable company the General had 
been an honorary member. Nothing of pomp 
and circumstance was lacking from the solemn 
ceremonial. 

“ I suppose it is wicked to say it, but I could 
not help thinking how gratified the General 
would be if he could see his own funeral,” said I 
to Miss Barbara that evening. 

My father and mother had come to town for 
Commencement, and we were to go home with 
them on the morrow. This would be my last 
visit to my friend for two months — perhaps for 
much longer, for the talk over the supper-table 
ran upon the probability that the Lady Superior 
would give up her school now that her husband 
was dead. She was reported to have said that 
she felt unequal to the work without his counsel 
and moral support. 

“ I reckon a good many other folks sinned 
in the same direction,” rejoined Miss Barbara 
to my remark. “To my way of thinking, 
three-quarters of him was Deportment. But I 


390 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


may be wrong ! ” — as if seized with compunc- 
tion for lack of charity to the dead. “ I am 
so often mistaken that the sensation has lost 
its novelty. There may have been enough in- 
side of the case to excuse the time and labor 
spent in polishing it.” 

“There must have been much in him that 
was excellent and lovable to account for the 
devotion of the wife and daughters who knew 
him better than mere acquaintances,” observed 
Miss Marcia. 

“ Quite so ! ” assented Major Peachy. 

We were having tea in the summer-house. 
A sultry evening had followed a fervid July 
day. The long lines of day-lilies bordering 
the main alley of the garden were too spiritless, 
or too hot at heart, to close at sunset, as was 
their duty and their wont. They stretched 
away into the distance like files of debilitated 
ghosts, or like nuns at vespers, wearied by the 
length of their orisons. The river was low, 
and the evensong of the rapids was a languorous 
murmur. Scene, atmosphere, talk, and topics 
were depressing. Miss Marcia and I wore our 


A Brave Lady 


39i 


white dresses and black ribbons. By general 
consent, the girls would not lay them off until 
the morrow. The Major's left sleeve was en- 
circled by a mourning-band. He would wear 
it for thirty days, for he, too, had once belonged 
to the “ Blues." He was nothing if not con- 
ventional. 

“The ways of women, like the Lord’s, are 
past finding out," quoth Miss Barbara, presently. 

The Major’s “ Quite so ! ’’ usually had the 
effect of a spring-lock upon whatever topic was 
under debate. It required an effort afterward 
to reopen the discussion. The ensuing silence 
may have been in token of respect for the sapi- 
ent conclusion of the last speaker. It may have 
signified discouragement. Miss Barbara violated 
precedent by continuing the subject : — 

“A very wise old lady said to me once — 
c If a woman can give a reason for the love 
that is in her for a man, I wouldn’t give a fig 
for her love.’ I believe she was right." 

“ Oh, Miss Barbara ! ’’ ejaculated I, pragmati- 
cally ; cc Love, to be worth having, must be 
founded upon esteem and congeniality of taste 


39 2 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


and sentiment. Love, without this foundation, 
will not stand wear and tear ! ” 

I blushed consciously, for I was thinking of 
Frederic. He was present, of course, and his 
grave, fathomless eyes were upon me. 

“ Fiddlesticks and the cat’s foot ! ” said Miss 
Barbara. “ You learned that from books, honey, 
not from everyday life. It’s respect that goes 
to pieces in the washing. Love will outlast it 
by a century, if the woman should be so un- 
fortunate as to live that long. Look at Mrs. 
Nunham ! She fell in love with the General 
when they were both young, or with what she 
thought he was. He has been a buckram 
nonentity for twenty years — for thirty, for all 
I know ! She has kept on believing in him, and 
she’s all broken up when the dummy dies. You 
couldn’t convince her that she has not been 
leaning upon him all this time, instead of sup- 
porting him by the toil of her brain and the 
sweat of her face. And she has inoculated his 
daughters with the same faith. They’ll go on 
worshipping him to the end of their days.” 

Miss Marcia had a pat quotation. While she 


A Brave Lady 


393 


recited it, she cast her eyes down and crumbled her 
bread upon the cloth with her left hand. There 
was a new ring on it I had not seen until now. 
I comprehended instantly that she had not worn 
it to school for fear the girls would torment 
her with teasing questions. As they certainly 
would. She was out of school bounds now. 
Tutors and governors and tyrannical customs 
might be cast behind her. The dignity of a 
new estate enveloped her. It might prove an 
honorable vassalage. To her it was a prospec- 
tive queendom. She recited primly still, but 
with an assured air : — 

“ * Yes ! woman’s love ’s a holy light. 

That, when once kindled, ne’er can die. 

It lives though cruelty and slight 
To blight its constancy may try. 

Like ivy, where to cling ’t is seen. 

It wears an everlasting green.’ ” 

cc Quite so ! ” uttered the Major, emphatically 
for him. “ A very just observation ! ” 

He pushed his chair back and produced his 
pipe, bowing interrogatively to the hostess. 

“ Certainly ! ” said she. “ And you’d like to 
stroll while you smoke, I suppose?” 


394 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


“ Thank you ! ” 

Then he bowed to Miss Marcia, confident, 
rather than interrogative. In fact he demanded 
— not entreated. She arose with alacrity, shook 
out her skirts, and laid her hand within his offered 
arm. They strolled away down the lilied walk 
at the farther end of which the purple summer 
gloaming was beginning to thicken into a curtain. 
The murmur of Miss Marcia's monologue strayed 
back to us. I fancied that I detected brief inter- 
missions in the stately' continuity of the flow of 
language, and doubted not that the Major's 
“ Quite so ! " chinked these spaces. 

More of my misdoing — this match was! 
But for my officious interference with Marcia 
Snead's manifest destiny, she would never have 
been an inmate of the Allen homestead, and 
never met the man she was going to marry. I 
had a wild impulse to fall at the feet of my 
brave lady and pray her to forgive my instru- 
mentality in the ruin of her life-long dream. 

Yet — had I really done the grand creature a 
wrong ? 

Antony and Cleo began to clear the table, I 


A Brave Lady 


395 


waited until they had carried trays and cloth 
away before saying something from the depths 
of a heart where the fire burned while I mused: — 

“ Miss Marcia didn’t finish her quotation ! 
There are two more lines in the verse : — 

“ * And often, like the ivy, clings 

Most fondly * round most worthless things.* 

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask her why 
she left that off.” 

“ It is just as well you didn’t say it. The tip 
of the tongue is a slippery sinner, and gets 
us into mischief oftener than the whole of the 
rest of the body. She is too happy to hold 
any commerce with misanthropy. They are to 
be married in October. I have been helping her 
to buy her wedding clothes and to have them 
made up. A house belonging to the Major will 
be vacant next month. He will have it ready 
for them by October.” 

cc And you will be left here all alone ! ” I 
broke forth impetuously. cc Oh, Miss Barbara ! 
this is a hard, cruel, ungrateful, treacherous world ! 
I am sick of it ! ” 


396 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


She smiled — I thought, mournfully — but 
there was a quizzical glint in her eye. 

“You remind me of what my old Mammy 
used to say when I talked in the same way. All 
young people do at some time in their lives. 
‘ De worl’ is all right, Miss Barb’ry, honey ! 
But, good Lord ! de people what’s in it ! ’ ” 

She resumed after a thoughtful pause : — 

“ Not that I have any right to complain of 
c de people what’s in it ! ’ We reap as we have 
sowed, usually. The Almighty lets the land to 
us on a life-lease. We choose for ourselves what 
seed we’ll put into the ground, and how we’ll 
manage the crop. He doesn’t throw in experi- 
ence, gratis.” 

“ I don’t see why not, if He is so gentle and 
merciful. He can’t enjoy seeing us suffer.” 

cc Our doing, and the happiness it brings — our 
undoing, and the misery that comes from it — are 
a part of the eternal plan of cause and effect, 
Mousie. The one and only thing the Lord 
can’t do is to break His own laws. The trouble 
is with us poor worms of the dust. We don’t 
learn our lesson until we’re about ready to be 


A Brave Lady 


397 


turned back to dust and ashes. We sow the 
wind, and then howl and kick because har- 
vesting the whirlwind is such a disagreeable 
business.” 

The other two were at our end of the walk 
again. 

<c Have you seen the new moon ? ” cried Miss 
Marcia, gayly. “ It is a thin yellow crescent, 
and we saw it over our right shoulders ! The 
Major was just speaking of the probability that 
the superstition had its origin in the worship of 
Astarte. Her votaries bowed to her upon each 
return of the moon, and muttered an invocation. 
It is very interesting to trace — ” 

They had turned as she spoke, and the rest of 
the dissertation was lost among the lilies. 

Miss Barbara looked after them until the 
purple veil enveloped and hid them from our 
sight. 

<c That is a good woman ! ” she said, seriously. 
“ She will take excellent care of him and be very 
happy while doing it. He is an honorable 
gentleman. Any woman's happiness is safe in 
his hands. I think Agnes will understand ! ” 


398 When Grandmamma was Fourteen 


The betrothed pair had not emerged from the 
distant dusks when my father was announced. 
Antony brought him to the summer-house, and 
I presented him proudly to our hostess. I held 
one of his hands, squeezing it hard while he 
thanked Miss Barbara for her great kindness to 
his “ little girl,” and reciprocated her expressed 
wish for a perpetuation of our intimacy. Then 
he told her how glad we would be to see her 
in our own home — “ the sooner the better.” I 
put on the bonnet Cleo had brought, and Miss 
Barbara would accompany us through the hall 
and to the front porch, where she put both arms 
about me and kissed me cc Good-by,” smiling 
affectionately down into the face I felt was be- 
ginning to quiver along lines I strove to keep 
steadfast. 

“ Mousie has done me no end of good, first 
and last ! ” she said. “ At our age, Mr. Bur- 
well, it is much to find somebody who believes in 
us, through and through. And this is such a 
stubborn little believer that she starches my self- 
respect into something like decent shape. God 
bless and keep you obstinate, dear! You’ll suffer 


A Brave Lady 


399 


for it, but you’ll help other people who need 
to have a rope thrown out to them ! ” 

She kissed me again, and let me go. 

She stands before me always, as I saw her then, 
— brushing my swimming eyes to behold her 
clearly — erect and firm between the massive 
columns of the doorway of her ancestral home. 
Her strong face, framed by hair that had 
whitened fast that summer, showed clearly in the 
afterglow from the West. There were no lights 
as yet in the grim old house where she was born, 
and in which she would die. She stood there 
alone, a lonely evening in prospect — a lonely 
night, and God alone knew how many lonely 
years, before her. 

For I felt in my heart that she would not go 
back to the garden, where the oddly-matched 
lovers were lingering between the ranks of phan- 
tom lilies, unchaperoned, save by the yellow 
crescent moon. 









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